


The Demon You Know

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Duelling, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Master/Slave, Romance, Sex Magic, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hawke family moves to Tevinter, where through a set of circumstances Kit Hawke ends up dueling and defeating Magister Danarius.  After her victory, she inherits all of his property, including his bodyguard...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of my latest fill on the Dragon Age kink!meme, "The Demon You Know." It's my take on a FenrisxF!mage!Hawke!Magister rivalmance.
> 
> I wanted to go the rivalmance route because of Ander's in game comment- "How did your master not kill you?" I figured it was because Fenris being angry and defiant gave Danarius exactly what he wanted; a reason to punish and rape our favorite slave.

Kit sat in the large, stuffed chair with a sigh.  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.  It had been an exhausting day.  She winced internally at the plaintive voice from behind the chair.

"Magister?  Would you like aught to eat?"

Kit drew in a breath, then expelled it slowly.  She opened her eyes and turned to the thin-faced elf who abased herself in the doorway.  "I'm fine, Beatriz.  Please-"  Kit winced again as the reaction-headache intensified.  "Please, get off the floor."

The light-haired woman rose hesitantly at Kit's words, shoulders hunched in uncertainty.  She licked her lips, and keeping her eyes trained on the floor, asked, "Magister?  What shall we do?  What do you wish of your staff?"

Kit groaned, eyes closed in exhaustion and frustration, and the elf cowered as though she'd been struck.  "I'm sorry, Magister..." she whispered.

"It's not you, Beatriz- It's just... Maker, I'm tired.  Please, tell the staff to continue in their normal duties until further notice."  Kit frowned then, and added, "And suspend any punishments or ongoing magical experiments."  She growled then, "That Danarius was a sick bastard, and I'll have none of his filth practiced here."

Beatriz' eyes widened at that, and she nodded, bowing low.  "It shall be as you wish, Magister."  She hesitated, then said, "We've made up the master suite with fresh linens- perhaps my lady would care to retire for the evening?"

Kit opened her eyes, and with a tired smile, let out a breath.  "Maker, yes, please."  The slave bowed low and gestured gracefully.

"This way, if it please you, Magister."

********************************************************************************************************

As Kit walked through the halls, the servants bowed low in submission.  As they passed through, however, she could hear the low hum of conversation behind her.  The household had been thrown into a panic as the transfer of property had taken place, effective immediately upon Danarius' death following the duel.  The conflict had been inevitable, but no one in Minrathous had predicted that the lone surviving scion of the Hawke family would triumph over one of the city's most feared magisters.

 _He's dead, Da, and I'd kill him a thousand times over for you if I could_ , Kit thought with a pang.  Three years ago, the challenge had come, delivered by an impassive slave to the door of the Hawke townhouse.  

 _By the rules set forth in the time of Archon Nomaran,  
a challenge is hereforth issued to the House of Hawke   
by the House of Lucceius.  Each House may select a   
magister to represent their interests; if either party   
should fail to respond, all assets belonging to that   
party are considered forfeit.  The challenge shall be   
satisfied one month hence, on the twelfth day of Solis,   
in a location to be selected by the challenged party._

 _Ex Imperiis, Veritas._

Malcolm had spent weeks preparing for the duel, assured of victory.  He had hidden the true depth of his talent from the other magisters, preferring to remain aloof from duels and politics.  He had, however, been unable to anticipate that their cook of seven years served another master, and the deathroot poison, combined with magebane, had nearly killed him.  

As Malcolm lay gasping, desperately trying to force his waning mana into the steady blue glow of healing, he had seen Bethany cry out and fall to the floor.  He had crawled to her, his baby girl, and spent the last traces of his magic in a desperate bid to save her.  The two of them died, together, as Carver held Leandra and rocked.  Kit had wept as she sent bolt after bolt of healing magic into their cooling corpses.  

The cook had paid with his life, patient eyes expecting nothing else.  Such was life in the Imperium.  Leandra, bowed nearly double with grief, had forbade her remaining daughter to represent the family in the duel, and in one fell swoop the Hawke family had lost everything.

Kit and Carver had hired themselves as mercenaries for a year, the coin from their commissions keeping Leandra from the streets of Minrathous.  Their long absence, however, had left Leandra easy prey for the crazed magister with a taste for older women.  Kit and Carver had returned to find her desecrated body on the floor of their hovel, a locket with her children's pictures clenched in her fist.  Kit had found Carver, a month later, blood soaking the sheets and pooling on the floor, wrists slit, a short, neatly folded note on the bed.

 _Sister,  
I'm so sorry.  Bethany, Mother, Da- I can't take it.    
I'm not strong like you- and as I have no magic,   
I find that there is no place in Tevinter for me.    
I can only hope that the Maker forgives,   
and that by the time you read this I am with them once more.  
Carver_

She had held him, screaming her fury, her loss, until the tenants of the shoddy hovel across the way had ventured in, found her, dragged her away.  She had arranged for him to be buried beside the rest of her family, the cold eyes of the stone falcon the only witness to her whispered promise.

 _Danarius will die, I swear it.  I promise that you will not go unavenged._   She had risen, then, eyes dry, heart cold and dead inside her, and spent the next three years honing her skills.  She would take his life, as he had taken hers, if it was the last thing she did.

 _Maker's mercy,_  she had prayed,  _let it be the last thing I do.  Give me his end, and then grant me mine._

********************************************************************************************************

Kit pushed those thoughts far away; she was much too exhausted to rein her feelings, and she didn't want to kill anyone or set anything on fire at the moment.  She nearly bumped into Beatriz as the elf stopped suddenly in the doorway of the lavishly furnished master suite.

"Fenris," Beatriz said hesitantly, "the Magister is here."  Beatriz turned to Kit, eyes, on the floor, and gestured.  "Your room, my lady; Fenris will attend you."  

Kit turned from the woman and stepped into the dimly lit room, noting that the only light came from the banked fire on the hearth.  As her eyes became accustomed to the lack of light, she made out a figure standing in the shadows near the canopied bed.  She heard a click behind her and turned to find that Beatriz had gone, the door gently shut.

She felt, more than heard, a movement behind her.  She turned, quickly, and stepped backwards suddenly as the shadows resolved themselves into a man.  He walked quietly, smoothly forward, bare feet making no sound on the smooth stone floor.  As the light played over him, Kit noticed sinuous, metallic lines snaking over his chin, throat, up the sides of his neck, tracing his long, delicately pointed elvhen ears.  His bare arms bore the same markings and a shock of white hair stood out in stark contrast to his dark skin.   He wore a delicately forged silver collar and bracelets, although she had a feeling they were less for decoration and more for a statement of status.

 _Maker's breath, what is this?_  she thought.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in these chambers?" Kit asked, guardedly.

The elf stood before her, head bowed, eyes on the floor.  He replied in a low, toneless voice, "I am Fenris, bodyguard and servant to the former Magister.  What would you have of me, my lady?"

"Bodyguard?"  Kit repeated, stupidly.  Her head was aching.  "What in the Void are you doing in this room?"

At her reply, she thought she noticed the faintest trace of a sneer on his lips.  "It is rather difficult to protect you otherwise, Magister."  The tone was just barely respectful.  

"Yes, well," Kit replied distractedly, "You can go now- I have no need of you at the moment."

The elf's face remained impassive, his posture subservient, so it was with shock that she heard him intone quietly, "No."

"I...beg your pardon?"  Kit said.

She saw a flash of white teeth-  _Did he just snarl at me?_  and in the same low voice, he said, "I must remain here to protect you.  It is my duty."

Kit shook her head, her golden eyes narrowed in irritation.  "You cannot stay in here, Fenris- I relieve you of your duty."

He looked up at her then, and something electric passed between them.  His posture changed, subtly, becoming challenging, inviting as his eyes met hers.  Oh, my, she thought, eyes like emeralds.  

At the moment, those eyes were fairly glowering at her.  An alarm went off in her mind as he closed the distance between them.  She took a step back.  "I remain at your side lest another magister threaten an attack.  And if my lady wishes-" His hands went to the toggle at the top of his silken tunic- "It is my duty to serve in any way you deem fit."

 _Oh,_   A tiny voice in Kit's head said.   _That's why he's here._

********************************************************************************************************

"That won't be neccessary," Kit said hastily, and at her words his hands stilled on the toggle of his tunic.  "Please, you must have sleeping quarters elsewhere.  I relieve you of all further duties tonight."

He simply looked at her.  "I sleep here."

Kit gritted her teeth.  "Maker's  _balls,_  my head is killing me."  His lips quirked at the epithet.  "Look, you're not even armed, and I don't need a bodyguard."

"My armor and sword are on the table," he said, implacably.  "Would you have me wear them now?"

"At this time of night?  What, and have you sleep in them?"  He watched her, one tuft of silvery white hair falling in an eye.

"Forget it, I'm not going to argue this with you tonight," Kit said, throwing up her hands.  "Go to sleep, then."  

When he walked over and sat on the enormous bed, her jaw dropped.  "H-hold on a second," she stuttered.  "You're not sleeping with me."  Fenris looked at her, again, then slid to the floor.  

Kit groaned.  "Maker, no, you're not sleeping on the floor."  She looked around, suddenly noticing that there was not a single other large piece of furniture in the room.  "Don't you have a bed, or something?  Surely you didn't sleep with Danarius."

An angry red flush spread over his neck and up his face.  She winced immediately as he glared.   _Oh, fuck.  I've stepped in it now._

"I slept where I was told to sleep,  _Magister_."  His clipped tones and gritted teeth spoke volumes.

Kit swayed suddenly as the exhaustion of the duel caught up with her.  She rubbed her face with her hands and sighed tiredly.  "Sleep in the bed, then.  It's certainly big enough."

Without another word she turned her back and stripped efficiently to her smalls, and with a small gesture put the fire out, simultaneously creating a mage-light in her palm.  She heard a small intake of breath as her magic flowed across the room, and shook her head.  She could have sworn for a second that the elf  _glowed_.

 _I must be more tired than I thought_ , Kit said to herself.  She walked across the room, pulled back the covers, and slid into the large bed, hearing a whisper of sound as the elf did the same.  Within three breaths she was deeply asleep.

********************************************************************************************************

Kit woke the next morning to find Fenris awake, fully armed and armored.  He stood against the wall, silent and still, and she shook her head.   _Maker, what do I do with him?_

She dressed quickly in her discarded robes, running a hand through her short, disheveled hair.  She moved to step behind the screen where the necessary was located, then stopped and looked at him.  Pointedly.  "Can you step out of the room, please?"

Fenris raised one dark eyebrow at her, then said evenly, "No."

Kit swore creatively in Ferelden, then stepped behind the screen to pass water.  Her cheeks flamed at the thought of him listening.   _Am I to have no privacy, then?_

She resolved to ignore him, and stepped from behind the screen.  She poured water from the provided ewer into the basin, then washed her face and hands.  Drying her hands on the towel next to the basin, she stepped out of the room.  Fenris fell into step behind her, his bare feet whispering on the stone.

Beatriz met her in the hallway with a low bow.  "Breakfast is ready if my lady would care to dine."  Kit nodded briefly and followed the elf into the breakfast parlor, the sun shining through the windows and onto the long polished dining table.  A sideboard nearby, piled high with an assortment of Tevinter pastries, breakfast meats, and cut fruit.

Kit raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous amount of food.  "Are we expecting guests?" she asked Beatriz.

"N-no, my lady," the elf stammered.  "My lord ordered it thusly."

"And what of the uneaten food?" Kit asked.  "Even a demon of gluttony couldn't possibly eat all of this in one sitting."

Beatriz paled at the mention of demons.  "It is fed to the livestock, my lady."  Kit turned and stared at her, not sure that she'd heard correctly.

"The livestock?  Not the servants?"

Fenris let out a sardonic bark of laughter as Beatriz reddened.  "No, my lady- such things are not fit for a slave."

Kit shook her head.  "Ridiculous.  From now on, any leftover food that the  _servants_ -" she enunciated the word- "would care for is theirs."  She filled a plate high with pastries and meat, then scooped up a fair amount of fruit into a bowl.  She turned to Fenris and shoved the plate and the bowl into his hands.

"Here," she said, "Eat that."

Kit turned and filled another plate more moderately for herself, then turned to find Fenris still standing, starting at her in genuine surprise, still holding the plate and bowl.  "...my lady?" he said, voice strangely uncertain.

Kit took the plate and bowl from him and set them down on the table, then plunked her own dishes across from his.  "Another set of cutlery, please, Beatriz," she said, then sat down as the woman scurried off.

"Sit down, Fenris," Kit ordered.  He looked vaguely shocked at her words, but the command in her tone left him little choice, and he sat, reluctantly.  Beatriz returned with a fork, knife, and spoon, and set them before Kit, who handed them to Fenris.

"Maker's sake, Fenris," Kit said, "I will not have you standing there watching me eat.  Break your damn fast already."

Kit tucked into the food, trying to ignore him as she chewed.  She swallowed, then looked up to see his eyes on hers.  At her glare, he picked up his fork and knife and delicately cut the meat on his plate, then lifted it to his mouth, eyes watching her as he chewed.   _I think he has better table manners than I do_ , Kit noted wryly.

His eyes caught hers, and he deliberately tore off a small hunk of the pastry, then lifted it to his lips.  He ate the piece of pastry, then held her eyes as he licked a bit of honey off his thumb.  Her heartbeat stuttered as he drew his thumb slowly out of his mouth, then turned his thumb and ran the pad along his teeth, making a soft sound as he then pulled his thumb from his lips.  His eyes challenged hers as he reached for another piece of pastry.  Kit nearly swallowed her tongue and looked away, reddening.

They ate breakfast in silence.

********************************************************************************************************

The next few days passed quickly, and Kit soon grew used to Fenris' constant presence.  She began to make arrangements for the household, moving her meagre possessions from her rented hovel to the mansion.  Danarius' slaves were beginning to adjust themselves to her routine, and as disquieting as it was to own people, Kit had to admit they were efficient and useful.  Beatriz and the others were quiet and respectful, and Kit caught occasional glimpses of surprise when her Ferelden roots asserted themselves.

"Beatriz," Kit sighed, "Please, stop bowing.  It's unnecessary."  

Beatriz stood up immediately, surprise on her face.  "As you wish, my lady."  Kit heard a derisive snort behind her.

She turned to face Fenris, noting the look on his face.  "I'm sorry, Fenris, were you saying something?"  Kit asked in a sickeningly sweet tone.  She was getting used to the elf's mistrustful glances and snide comments, although she still wasn't sure what prompted them.

As Beatriz left the room, Fenris leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.  "Do you enjoy playing nice to the slaves, my lady?"he asked, mocking her.  

Kit looked at him, a hint of anger in her voice.  "I'm not  _playing_  anything, Fenris.  I've never owned, nor wanted to own slaves."

One eyebrow shot up as he stared at her.  "And yet you've fallen quite neatly into the role," he replied.

She glared at him.  "What have I done thus far to earn your anger, Fenris?  I've tried to treat you, along with every other person in this house, with courtesy."

He glared back, the casual pose disintegrating as he leaned forward.  "You have fooled the others, but I know exactly what you are," he said in a low, angry tone.  "Behind your smiles and closed doors, you're no different than any other magister."  He spat the word, and Kit felt anger rising within her.

"How dare you," she hissed, "Any other magister would have you whipped for saying such a thing-"

He smiled then, slowly.  "And you'd like to have me whipped as well-" his voice dropped seductively- "Or perhaps you'd prefer something else."

Kit felt heat creep into her cheeks.  "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

Fenris laughed, coldly.  "Do you think I spent the last six years in a magister's bed for nothing?  I know that look."  He spread his hands.  "I'm your property, my lady," he continued, his voice like steel, "to do with as you please.  Take me to your bed, bleed me for your magic, if you so desire."

Kit's blood ran cold.  "I've never used blood magic," she said through clenched teeth, "and I never will.  I learned from my father, a good, decent man, and he never used blood magic, ever."

Fenris sneered.  "Then he was weak."

A loud crack resounded in the hallway, and Kit stared at Fenris, her palm stinging, as he lifted a hand to his cheek.  " _Never_  disrespect my father," she said, voice shaking, and stalked off down the hallway.  

Fenris followed silently.

********************************************************************************************************  
 **That night...**

Kit undressed quickly, ignoring Fenris completely.  She was furious with him.

Just like every other magister- she pulled off her robes, then stepped behind the screen to pull on her night shift.  She heard the clink of metal on metal as Fenris removed his armor and put it on the low table.

Kit crawled into bed and snuffed the fire with a wave of her hand, leaving him to fumble to the bed in the dark.  She turned her back to him and willed sleep to come.  

********************************************************************************************************

She woke, slowly, to the feel of lips on her neck.  Fingers stroked along her ribs, and she felt his warm body next to hers.  Her body tensed and he stilled, realizing that she was awake.  She felt him shift suddenly, and before she could say a word his lips were on hers.  He kissed her slowly, seductively, expertly, and she gasped as he slipped his lips over hers.  She felt his hand smooth upwards, underneath her shift, and he bent to kiss her neck as his fingers grazed her nipple.

Suddenly, like a dash of ice water, realization hit her, and she pushed him away, mage-fire alight in her hand.

"What in the  _Maker's name_  do you think you're doing?" Kit said harshly, trying to control her breathing.   

Mage-fire revealed him lying languidly on the bed, watching her with dark eyes.  His gaze flicked to the fire she held, and then to her heaving chest, and then, insolently back up to her eyes.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Fenris asked, his voice husky.  He shifted, suggestively, and she suddenly realized-

 _Oh, Maker.  He's not wearing any clothes-_

Thin metallic streams glinted in the dim light, winding halfway down his chest.  They stopped there, as if the artist couldn't bear to mar the warm, tan flesh below, and ran sinuously down his sides, accentuating the muscles in his legs, curling delicately around his feet.

Kit rolled over, facing away from him, letting the mage-fire dissapate.  "You're not some kind of plaything to me, Fenris," she said, tightly.

"No," he said, and she felt the bed shift as he reached for her, "I'm your slave."  Time slowed briefly, and then sped up, the gravity spell briefly distorting space.  There was a loud thud as Fenris hit the floor, and the fire in the fireplace roared to life.

Kit rolled out of bed, angrier than she could ever remember being before.  She stalked over to where he lay, shaking his head to clear the last of the magic.  A small part of her noticed in fascination that he was glowing, the silvery markings pulsing a bluish-white as he looked up at her.

Fenris picked himself up slowly, then stood to full height, white hair falling in his eyes as he watched her warily.  She pushed him, then, and the wall of force behind her palm pushed him inexorably towards the wall.  "How dare you use what I feel-" she seethed, as his back hit the wall "-to try and prove to yourself that I'm like him."  She reached up to his neck and unfastened the collar as his eyes widened, then did the same for the bracelets.  

The wall of force dissipated as she paced away from him, and she slammed the collar and bracelets down on a side table.  She turned back, and continued, fiercely, "Do you think you can taunt and prod me to use you like that?"

He reached out, lightning-quick, and pulled her to him.  His lips were on hers and for a moment she nearly whimpered at the feel of him tight against her.  The next moment she bit and tasted blood, and he pulled back with a curse, lip bleeding.  

She gestured, and with a single word, he was caught in a vise of power.  As she closed her hand, he felt the vise tighten around him, and his marks flared to life.  He snarled, and she watched, stunned, as his hand phased white-hot and broke through the prison.  The magical bond shattered, and he stood there, chest heaving, eyes almost black with rage or desire.

"Listen to me," she hissed, "Whatever's between us, whatever you think  _this_  is," she said, gesturing to her body, "-has nothing to do with magisters or slaves.  What I feel for you, I feel as a woman does towards a man, and this has  _nothing_  to do with owning you.  I will not  **use**  you."

Kit walked over to a wall and tore the decorative fur that hung there off the wall.  She threw it on the ground, in front of the fireplace, and walked over to him.  "Lay down."  She gestured to the fur.

He sat down on the fur, then rolled onto his side, watching her.  She walked back to the bed and slid under the covers.  Fenris waited, for further words, recrimination.  What he heard was the sound of her shifting in bed, and then a soft moan.  He drew in a deep breath.  Was she-?

As her breathing sped up, he heard her small cries.  Yes, damn her, she was.  His fingers tangled in the fur as he lay on the floor, listening to her as she pleasured herself.

Kit lay in bed, fingers slick with need, as the memory of the feel of him, the image of him spurred her on.  Her breath grew ragged as she crept closer and closer to the edge, and then, with a loud cry, she came.  As the spasms settled and her breath calmed, she heard his voice from the other side of the room.

"Would you deny me release?" he said, voice strained.  Kit closed her eyes, then rolled out of bed, and walked over to where he lay, her resolve nearly in tatters.

"On your back, where I can see you," she ordered.  Fenris rolled onto his back and watched as she knelt next to him.  Kit's eyes raked over him, lean and beautiful in the firelight, her eyes drawn to where he was hard and full, curved up along the muscles of his abdomen.

She bent her lips to him and kissed him, roughly, whispering, "Do as you will."  

Fenris trembled against her lips, and Kit could feel the movement as his hand worked.  As she deepened the kiss, he sped up the pace, letting out muffled moans against her mouth.  She felt him shake as he came, and some deep, dark part of her gloried in his servitude, in the power which he so freely gave to her.  Kit sat back on her knees, and looked at him, dark skin gleaming in the firelight, his release wet against his stomach.  Unable to resist, she leaned in on all fours and licked, lapped at him, his stomach taut against her tongue, his seed salty and foreign.  She felt him run a hand along her back, stroking her shoulder as she filled herself with the taste of him.  She sat back, wiping her fingers delicately across her lips, and as their eyes met they stared wordlessly at one another.

Kit wasn't sure who had won or who had lost; whether she had proven her point by not taking him, or proven his point by exerting control over his release.  Emotions and power were hopelessly tangled, and she simply wasn't up to sorting it out tonight.

Kit stood up and offered Fenris her hand.  He rose from the fur and took it, slowly.  She pulled him back towards the bed and let him go with a gentle shove.  "Get back in the bed and go to sleep," she said in as neutral tone as she could manage, then crawled into the other side of the bed and closed her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

When Kit woke up the next morning, she found Fenris dressed, armed, and silent, as usual.  He seemed determined to avoid her eyes, and she found herself completely unsure of how to discuss what had passed between them.  She dressed quickly and headed to the breakfast parlor, where a much smaller and simpler repast awaited.  As they ate a simple meal of bread, fruit, and tea, Kit cleared her throat.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Fenris," she started, hesitantly.  He sat across from her, gauntlets on the bench, sword leaning up against the wall.  He looked up from the cup of cooling tea he'd been cradling in his hands, and she resisted the urge to brush back that stray lock of silver hair.  "Your markings...  I've never seen the like."

"Few have," he responded, tersely.  "To muster the amount of lyrium required would bankrupt any lesser magister."  Her eyebrows nearly met her short, dark, reddish-brown hair at his words.

"Lyrium?"  she asked.  "But lyrium is poisonous to non-mages.  You should be dead."

He smiled mirthlessly at that.  "I do not understand the magics required to create my markings, but I was told that I was the latest of many attempts on Danarius' part to recreate the arcane warriors of old.  None of his previous attempts survived the experience."

"But with the templars, repeated lyrium exposure destroys the mind," Kit replied.

"The templars drink a suspension of lyrium, and over time it builds up in their bodies and blood.  The lyrium in my markings does not enter my blood- it is permanently etched into my skin.  Perhaps that is the difference."  Fenris shrugged.  "But I am no magister- I know little of these things except for that which Danarius chose to speak of."

Kit reached out a hand toward the silvery streams winding sinuously up his forearm, tentatively, then paused.  "May I?" she asked, feeling a slight heat stain in her cheeks.  She certainly hadn't asked permission the previous night; yet somehow, a deliberate touch in the broad light of day seemed more intimate than a caress performed in darkness and passion.

Fenris watched the heat climb up her face; she was a puzzle, this child-woman, this creature who wielded arcane power as surely as any other Tevinter noble, yet refused to spill blood to further her prowess.  She inherited a houseful of slaves, but persisted in attempting to treat them like hired servants.  She looked at him with desire, but pushed him away when he attempted to serve her as he would his former master.  She kissed him like a woman possessed, licked his seed from him as he lay prone in front of her, but blushed while asking to touch his arm.

Fenris held his arm to her without comment, his eyelids fluttering down as she delicately traced a mark.  Her magic thrummed through him, adding to the constant, dull pain of the marks another sensation entirely.  He took in a small, sudden breath as her touch coursed through him.

Kit ran her fingers along the silver tracing his skin, marveling at how the delicate contours followed the shape of his muscles.  The skin was smooth and warm, indiscernible in texture from the surrounding flesh except perhaps in temperature- she noticed the markings seemed quite warm.  She looked up at the intake of breath, noticing that he was watching her with half-lidded eyes, and drew her fingers back slightly.  "I-I'm sorry," she said, softly, "Does that hurt?"

"Not... entirely," Fenris growled, lifting his other hand and pressing her fingers to his arm.  

Kit swallowed, suddenly aware of the charged atmosphere in the room.  "Fenris," she near-whispered, and he quickly released her hand. Kit pulled her hand back, taking a quick drink of cold tea to hide her reaction.  

When she set her cup down, he had collected himself, looking at her with defiance in his eyes.  "I was made to respond to magic," Fenris said, roughly.  "There is pain, always, but pain and pleasure are dual edges to the same sword, and magic can cut either way." 

Kit looked at Fenris wordlessly.  She had no idea what to say to him.  "I-I think I'll have a look at the accounts today," she said, and stood up abruptly.  As she walked down the hall towards the study, she was acutely aware of his silent presence behind her.

********************************************************************************************************

The next few days passed uneventfully as Kit buried herself in accounts and paperwork.  It was becoming increasingly clear that Danarius, for all of his power and influence, had been spending far more than his properties brought in, throwing lavish parties, purchasing a multitude of slaves, and engaging in excess at every opportunity.  Kit chewed her lower lip anxiously.  As the inheritor of his estate, she was responsible for settling the large debts he had accrued with several influential lenders.

 _I wanted to free the slaves, perhaps hire a few on as servants.  But I can't simply toss them out the door without a coin to their name, and no tradeskill with which to support themselves.  And I don't have the funds to arrange for so many apprenticeships...  Maker, I might as well be trying to provide dowries for nearly fifty people._   Kit set down the ledger she'd been perusing and picked up another letter requesting payment.

 _I could sell off some of the furnishings...  And that summer house in Alam.  Not that I expect it to fetch much of a price, being that it's situated right in the midst of contested territory between Tevinter and Par Vollen.  But it might help me to situate half the slaves..._

Kit picked up a quill and dipped it in the nearby inkwell, then carefully penned a note to Danarius' solicitor, asking him to dispose of the property in Alam.  Upon finishing the letter, she picked up the pounce pot and sprinkled it with finely ground sand, then tapped the letter into the holding dish to recover the loose pounce.  Kit folded the letter neatly into a square, sealing it with a few drips from a nearby candle, pressing her seal into the rapidly cooling wax.  After writing the directions carefully on the outside of the letter, she tossed the letter onto her growing pile of correspondence and felt a sense of accomplishment.

Fenris watched her delicate movements with interest.  Danarius had left the task of writing to servants whenever possible, and it seemed to him that there was an artistry of sorts in preparing a letter.

Kit looked up to find Fenris' attention on her.  A thought occured to her suddenly, and she asked, "Do you have family you'd like to write?  I'd be more than happy to see it sent."  

Fenris flushed and looked away.  "I have no one to write," he said, "And magisters do not allow slaves to learn such a thing."  

Kit could have bitten her tongue.  "I'm sorry," she offered, lamely.  "I didn't realize..."  She hesitated, then said, "I'd be happy to teach you, if you'd like to learn."  

He flushed deeper, and looked at her with embarrassment and anger.  "Is that what this is, 'Let's teach the poor slave to read'?"  He glared at her.  "I don't need your pity."

Kit stifled an angry response and looked down at her desk, silently counting to ten.  When she reached ten, she counted backwards, resisting the urge to throttle him.  Then with great deliberation, she picked up another letter and began to mentally compose a response.

********************************************************************************************************

The challenge came the next day.  Kit had been working through the last of the correspondence when Pesha came running in, chest heaving as he skidded to a halt.  Kit smiled at the small, dark-skinned Rivaini boy, and he grinned back at her.  He was one of the few slaves who did not tiptoe around the mansion, and his peals of laughter as he inevitably got into one scrape or another often rang through the hallways.  Kit had made him her unofficial page, and he was inordinately proud to run the small errands she asked of him.  

"What have you there, rascal?"  Kit said fondly.  

"Another- letter- for you- Magister," he said between breaths, holding out the buff-colored folded paper.  

Kit pulled out her coin purse and handed the boy a few silvers, ruffling his hair as she took the letter.  "Thank you kindly, ser," she said, inclining her head regally, a twinkle in her eye.  

He gave her a little bow back, giggling, "You're welcome, serah."

Kit smiled.  "Be off with you, scamp- go help Taysen in the kitchens.  I think he has some sweets today."  Pesha's eyes lit up, and without further prompting, he turned and ran off.  Fenris scowled as he watched the boy leave.

"You spoil him, Magister.  If he becomes accustomed to such manners, be aware that his next owner will no doubt beat it out of him."

"He's not going to have a next owner," Kit said, firmly, as she opened the letter.  "I'm coordinating the sale of some of Danarius' estate, and I'll be arranging apprenticeships and emancipations for the staff as funds become available."

Fenris' jaw dropped slightly, but before he could say a word Kit paled suddenly, her dark complexion turning a sickly shade of yellow.   _Poison_ \- he thought, and was across the room in an instant.  "Are you unwell?" he demanded.

"I-" Kit said, the hand with the letter falling limply to the desk.  She swallowed, suddenly.  "I have been challenged to a duel."

"Ah-" said Fenris, taken aback.  "Well, you defeated Danarius-"

"By the House of Scipio," Kit continued, dully.  

Fenris froze, then bit off a curse.  

"One of the most influential houses in Minrathous," she continued.  "And Magister Gaius is well-known as one of the most powerful blood mages in Tevinter."  Kit looked at him, eyes full of panic.  "I can't defeat him," she said.  

Fenris looked at her inscrutably.  "You could no doubt defeat him with blood magic," he answered, watching for her response.  Kit blanched.  "Maker, no, Fenris."

"And do you doubt that he will have handlers bleeding slaves at his signal to fuel his powers?  Blood magic is everywhere, from the lowliest apprentice up to the Archon himself," Fenris replied.  "Will you grant him this advantage over you?"

"I..I cannot,  _will not_  injure or kill another, nor deal with demons to achieve my means," Kit said, angrily.  

"Then you must flee, or die," said Fenris, "and either way, all of the property you inherited from Danarius is forfeit to the House of Scipio-" he gestured to himself- "including your slaves."

Kit looked at him in horror.   _Beatriz...and Taysen, and Pesha...and Fenris.  Oh, Maker._   "I must find a way, then, or die trying," she said, quietly, "for I'll not see all of you in the hands of a known blood mage."

She turned to the wall of books lining the study, eyes narrowed.  "I can enchant my armor, at least, and have runes applied..." her voice trailed off as she examined the books critically.  "Perhaps I can discover something here."  She chose a volume at random, then looked up at Fenris, gesturing absentmindedly to a chair.  "Please, sit down, and sharpen your sword, or something.  This may take a while."

Something like a smile cracked his face, and Kit nearly gaped at the rare show of humor.  "One does not sharpen a sword in a room full of books, unless you wish for me to bring in a whetstone and a bucket of water to do so."

Kit gestured to the other side of the large room, which was sparsely furnished with a couch, a large, ornately woven rug, and several of the large, disturbing statues of which Tevinter seemed so fond.  "We could remove some of this, if you'd like room to work.  I don't care for those statues, in any case."  Fenris shrugged noncommittally, which decided Kit on her course of action.  She walked into the hall, Fenris following behind her, and after a bit of a search, found Beatriz folding freshly washed linens.  "Could you have Maro and Macer sent to the study?  I wish to have some of the furnishings relocated."  

Beatriz nearly bowed, caught herself, and said quickly, "At once, my lady."  Maro and Macer, members of the household guard and mirror images of each other, arrived quickly after that.  Under Kit's orders, they made quick work of the excess furnishings.  Within the half hour the the statuary had been removed, the rug rolled up and removed along with the couch, leaving a space the length and width of two men clear in the study.  

Kit thanked the brothers, who bowed, faces impassive.  Like Fenris, they seemed uncomfortable with attention of any sort other than an order.   _No doubt Danarius enjoyed having a matched pair of slaves,_  Kit thought darkly.   _He seems to have visited the worst of his attentions on his guards._

Fenris spoke quietly to the brothers as Kit picked up the book she'd set on the desk, looking up as Fenris walked over to the desk.  "With your permission, Magister, I would like to see to the house and the guard.  It has been some time since I have been able to evaluate the premises- Maro and Macer will see to your safety until I return."

Kit nodded, surprise on her face.  "I wasn't aware you were the head of the house guard, Fenris."

"I wished to see to your safety personally during the transition of power- magisters have been known to strike at rivals during such times of weakness," he replied.

"Please, do as you see fit," Kit replied.  Fenris inclined his head in acknowledgement and left the room without further comment, Maro and Macer stationing themselves on either sides of the door like twin statues.

 _Fenris has tied himself to my side since I arrived; I'm glad that he's decided it's safe to leave me in other hands for a change,_  Kit thought.   _Of course, he might have been attempting to deflect attention from the other slaves in the event that I was as much of a monster as Danarius._   She sighed and picked up the leather-bound treatise of Rivaini magics, and settled into her chair to read.

 _I must find a way to save us, all of us._

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris walked silently throughout the mansion, the smooth stone floor cool on his bare feet.  He slid into the familiar half-meditation of the guardian, senses on the alert for the slightest sound, movement that would indicate an intrusion.  He focused, internally, on the dull throb of the markings in his skin, attuning to the sensation, the constant awareness of the magics suspended in his skin, which in turn created a hyper-awareness of other magics.  If anyone attempted to cast magic anywhere in the mansion or on the grounds, he would feel it.

His ears caught the faint hum of Taysen's voice, a low baritone.  The master of the kitchen often sang while cleaning or kneading bread- at this time of night he was no doubt preparing for the next days' work.  Fenris shifted his awareness to the two house guards at the front entrance.  They nodded quietly as he approached, and his eyes slid over their armor, checking for weaknesses, noting mentally that they were clean, armed, and hyper-aware, as they should be.  He dismissed them from his mind with a nod and went back to his inspection of the house.

Fenris' eyes moved to the windows, watching for moving shadows in the moonlight shining through the delicately wrought iron that covered the glass.  It was a cool, clear fall night; winter would soon be upon them, and Fenris grimaced internally at the thought of the weeks of rain and occasional snow that the season would bring.  

He remembered his first winter with Danarius vividly...   _Was it the first winter?  Perhaps I spent many a winter previous to that in his keeping-_  Fenris bit the thought off before the familiar obsession gripped him.  Danarius had always been coy about when and where Fenris had come into his possession, dropping an occasional tidbit if he was especially pleased by Fenris' actions.  It had delighted the magister to no end that Fenris remembered nothing of his life before the markings; he had taken great pleasure in taunting the warrior with teasing questions.

 _Ah, yes, you liked Seheron- you once said that you found Minrathous cold in comparison,_ the mage had said, coyly.  Fenris heart rate had sped up, and he had asked, demurely,  _So I am from Seheron, then?_ while rubbing the mage's shoulders.  Danarius had chuckled.   _Perhaps you are, my wolf- but perhaps I am simply crafting this tale for my own enjoyment.  You'll never know, I suppose,_  he had said, laughing wickedly as the elf's hands had stilled.   _Back to your work, slave,_  Danarius had said sharply, and with a touch sent a jolt of magic that set Fenris' teeth on edge with agony.   _If I say you are from the moon then that is where you are from, because I wish it._   Fenris shook off the memory with a silent snarl.

As he passed through the breakfast parlor, the scent of the lemon oil which Beatriz applied to the large table wafted through the air.  It was spotless, as usual- she was an exacting housekeeper.  He wended his way to the guards' quarters, remembering that first winter.  

Pain.  Agony beyond description, his mouth open in a silent scream as his back had bowed, the grit of the lyrium, suspended in ink, as it burned, _burned_  into his skin, the whorls setting themselves magically along his muscles.  He had passed out, several times, before waking in a room- Danarius' room, whimpering in pain, the freshly applied marks white and red, the flesh inflamed at the intrusion.  Danarius had entered, pleased to see him awake.   _Ah, my little wolf wakes at last._  

Fenris had looked at him, his own mind a frightening blank.  _Who are you?_   he had demanded,  _what is this place?_  Danarius' look of interest had sharpened.   _You remember nothing, then, my pet?_   Fenris had shook his head, negatively, a cry driven from him suddenly at the unexpected slap that whipped his head around.  Danarius had flexed his hand, the glow of magic easing the sting of his palm, and smiled a predator's smile.   _I am your master, slave, and you will learn to address me with respect._

Fenris took in a breath, dismissing that first of many unpleasant memories from his mind as he approached the guards' quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris walked down the hallway to the two doors that marked the guards' quarters, and rapped on the door firmly before pushing it open.  Two pairs of eyes watched as he entered the room, relaxing minutely when they realized it was him.  "Fenris," the dark-haired man said in acknowledgement, before returning his gaze to the tricky bit of mending he was tending to on the practice armor.  The other man, a red-haired elf, took his attention away from the knife and the small piece of wood he was carving to acknowledge Fenris' presence with a glance and a nod.

"Tristram, Gavin- how fares the guard?" Fenris asked, relaxing against the wall in the familiar company of comrades.  Tristram snorted, replying smartly, "Despite the change in ownership, the kennels remain the same.  Nothing of interest to report."  The red haired elf set down his carving, his hands signing carefully:   _Does the new magister treat you with as much favor as the last, my friend?  You are looking remarkably well... perhaps she does not find you as entrancing as Danarius did?_

Fenris watched the elf's movements, then shrugged.  "She does not seem fond of the same sorts of entertainment which brought Danarius so much pleasure, Gavin, but I have no doubt that in time she will reveal her true self.  She is a magister, after all.  I'm sure she will find a use for all of us eventually."

Gavin nodded knowingly, then looked over at the marked candle which kept time.  He stood, silently, picking up the knife and returning it to a sheath on his belt, then walked over to Tristram, snapping his fingers impatiently.  

"Yes, I know," Tristram said, "Just...let me finish this..."  Once he had repaired the tear in the leather, Tristram set the piece aside and picked up a pair of matched swords from their stand in the room.  Settling them into the harness at his back, Tristram stood, and with a glance at Fenris, said, "Front entrance?"

Fenris nodded, and the two men exited the room to relieve the day guard.  Fenris followed them into the hall and shut the door, then knocked on the second door.

"Yes, we're coming," a female voice said from inside, and the door was opened suddenly by a short, stocky brunette.  "Fenris!" she said in surprise, "The magister releases you from her attentions!"  

She was followed out of the door by an impatient blond elf.  "Move, Vitula," she said impatiently to the brunette, noting Fenris' presence with faint disdain.  "Get sent back to the guard in disgrace again, Fenris?  Our magister must be a gentle sort, since you're not being carried in."  Fenris' nostrils flared in dislike.  

"Pavo," he acknowledged, then continued.  "Macer and Maro are seeing to the magister's safety- the pair of you will take night duty on the rear entrance."  The elf shot him a glare.  "As you would have it, ser," she said, sarcastically, before stalking after Vitula.

Fenris gritted his teeth.   _Jealous as always, Pavo.  If you knew the kinds of attention 'lavished' on me by Danarius I have no doubt you'd be less than eager to take my place,_   he thought with irritation.

He completed his circuit of the house, and satisfied, returned to the library.  He paused in the shadows outside the door for a moment to study the scene within.  

Kit sat at the desk, bathed in candlelight.  Behind her, Minrathous' night sky spread out through the window, faint points of light punctuating the deep blue horizon.  She was dark and warm and golden against the deepest blue, the candlelight reflecting off her short, dark red hair, her sherry-colored eyes focused on the page.  She lifted a hand to rub tiredly at her brow, then reached to turn a page, her dark skin contrasting with the white page of the book.

Something inside Fenris shifted, and he snarled, shaking off the feeling.   _She is like a viper,_  he reminded himself,  _beautiful and deadly.  She cannot be trusted._

Steeling his resolve, he stepped into the study and dismissed Maro and Macer.  Kit looked up as he entered, then back down at the book, and sighed.  "I've found nothing thus far," she said, "but I suppose it was too much to hope for to find an answer immediately."  She rotated her head, relaxing tense neck muscles with a small sigh, then closed the book.  "Well, enough for one night," Kit said.  "I'll keep looking tomorrow."

She stood up and snuffed out the candle, then headed to her room.  As they began their familiar nighttime ritual, Kit dressing for bed while Fenris removed his armor, Kit shook her head silently.   _When did it become normal for me to sleep in the same bed with him?  Why do the sounds of him preparing for sleep soothe me so?_   As they crawled into bed, Kit blowing out the candle by her bedside, she wondered:  _Why is it that I can no longer sleep without the sound of him breathing next to me?_

********************************************************************************************************

The next week sped by far too quickly as Kit searched for an answer in Danarius' library.  The fall rains had soaked all of Minrathous, the sky cold and dreary.  In the library, Kit skimmed through Danarius' impressive collection of magical works, trying hard not to stare at the elf working slowly through sword forms on the other side of the room.  As the week had progressed, he had made the small space his, bringing in bits of practice armor which he skillfully mended, or sharpening and repairing spare weapons from the armory.  Kit had found the gentle  _rasp_  of a sword across the whetstone soothing, and they worked in companionable silence as the rain fell outside.

Kit admitted to herself that she spent a fair amount of time watching the elf beneath lowered lashes.  He knelt comfortably on the floor, barefoot, the whetstone and bucket in front of him, white hair in his eyes as he skillfully drew the blade across the stone.  He would occasionally dip his hand in the water and wet the sword and stone, then continue with his ministrations, carefully removing years of rust from some of the neglected blades.  After he finished with the whetstone, he moved it to the side of the room and emptied the bucket, then brought over a small table covered with a soft cloth.  Leaning the sword against the table, hilt in his lap, Fenris took a bit of polish on his thumb and carefully rubbed the polish into each edge of the sword.  After he had finished polishing the blade, he wiped it carefully with a soft cloth and then oiled the blade before wrapping it for storage.

On the fourth day, Fenris had set aside his tools and drawn his own sword, settling into a stance before beginning to move slowly, deliberately, his attention focused inward as he dueled an invisible opponent.  Kit had looked up at his movement, and found herself unable to look away, watching as he moved smoothly from form to form, muscles bunching and releasing as he controlled the movements of his sword.  After about ten minutes, he stopped momentarily, wiping a fine sheen of sweat from his brow with his forearm, then looked over briefly at Kit.

Closing her mouth with a nearly audible snap, she fumbled with the page of her book, realizing with embarrassment that she hadn't turned a page since he had begun his exercises.  As he began to move once more, she focused on the book, reminding herself silently:   _Duel.  Gaius.  Household.  Focus, Hawke._

And so the days passed in the House of Hawke, as the rain fell in the heart of Minrathous.

********************************************************************************************************

The next day began much the same as the previous ones, Kit and Fenris breaking their fast before heading to the study to continue their respective tasks.  Fenris settled down on the floor to continue replacing rusty plates on a gauntlet he'd begun repairing the day before, while Kit walked over to the library shelves and took down the next book on the shelf.  The book was bound in a dark, rough leather and covered with unusual sigils.  She laid it on the desk and sat in her chair, opening the cover to reveal the hand-written first page.  " _Spelles ande Rituales of the Chasinde Barbarians_ , hm?" Kit spent the rest of the morning puzzling through the first third of the book, the odd, hand-written script detailing the various reagents required for the spells.

After several hours, Kit and Fenris stopped to eat the noon meal Beatriz brought.  "You've been inside for some time, Magister," the housekeeper began, nervously.  "It be a fine day outside, per'aps you'd care to take a turn about the gardens?"  Kit looked out the window, noticing for the first time that day that the sun was shining, and grimaced.  

"That bad, am I, Beatriz?" Kit replied.  "I think you're right- we can't expect too many more days like this before winter sets in."  She smiled ruefully at the housekeeper, who smiled tentatively back.  "Thank you for your concern, Beatriz," she said, and the housekeeper blushed, then bowed slightly as she took the empty plates back to the kitchen.

"Shall we get a breath of fresh air, Fenris?" Kit asked, "I haven't seen the gardens yet."  Fenris nodded noncommittally, pulling his gauntlets and putting his sword in the harness at his back.  "As you wish, Magister."

Kit stopped to grab a cloak from its peg in her room, then looked at Fenris.  "I'm guessing you don't have a cloak?"  He looked at her and shook his head slightly.  "Providing slaves with shoes and cloaks is tantamount to giving them leave to run away, is it not?"  Kit sighed, used by now to his moods, and replied, "Well, once this mess is sorted out, I promise you and every person in this household shall have shoes and a cloak, and the freedom to go where they will."  

Fenris let out a sound of derision as he looked at her.  "The promises of magisters generally mean little when they have no incentive to keep them."  Kit fastened the clasp of her cloak, trying to hold back an angry response, and gritted out, "If I am such a worthless person, Fenris, why is it that you guard me so carefully?  Why not let the assassin's blade come, or simply pour poison in my drink?"  She turned and walked out the door, breathing in the fall air and choosing one of the white gravel paths that wound around the mansion.  

Fenris walked in the grass on the side of the path, preferring the cool, wet grass and soggy ground to the gravel.  As he followed behind her, he finally replied, "It is my duty to guard you.  The Qunari might say that it is my 'role'; I have no purpose if not to serve the magister to whom I belong."

They walked on, breathing in the cool, damp air as the sun shone through the autumn leaves of the trees.  Kit turned to him suddenly, and found herself asking, with quiet anger, "And is there no part of you that wishes to protect me, as a person, or does it matter so little to you which master you serve?"  
    
He looked at her, some part of her anger sparking his own resentment.  "I have been subject to the whims of a magister who used me as a tool, a plaything, a puppet for as long as I can remember.  Am I supposed to forget all the things that were done to me?"  He gestured at the  markings on his arm.  "Do you expect me to greet his successor with open arms?"

Kit stepped close to him, the cool air bringing out a flush on her cheeks, her tone heated.  "What I expect, Fenris, is to be treated as an individual, and not as a nameless, faceless representation of all that is wrong in Tevinter."

Kit gasped as she felt his steel gauntlets close around her upper arms, and suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall of the mansion, Fenris pressed against her, his eyes full of anger, his marks glowing an eerie blue-white.

"You  _are_  all that is wrong in Tevinter," he growled, before crushing his lips to hers.  Kit gasped before the onslaught as his mouth devoured her.  He pushed her again, pinning her firmly to the wall and lifting his mouth from hers.  She couldn't help the soft moan that left her mouth as he watched her, emerald eyes staring into golden.  He bent his head, and suddenly, his mouth was at her neck, sucking hungrily, his teeth scraping against her skin.  

Kit let out a soft cry as he bit her, hard, and struggled through the haze of desire to say, thickly, "Fenris, stop."  He ignored her, his thigh coming between hers as he pressed his body to hers, and she repeated, breath sobbing out, "Fenris, stop."  She began to struggle in earnest as he growled against her throat, and then suddenly, he released her.

He turned and walked away a few paces, breathing heavily as she nearly fell to the ground.  She steadied herself, pulling her cloak around her, and whispered, brokenly, "You can't do that, Fenris.  You can't say that you hate me in one breath and then try to make love to me in the next."

He said nothing, and pulling the tattered remnants of her dignity about her, Kit turned and walked back into the mansion.  After a few paces, she felt more than heard him fall into place behind her.  As soon as they entered the mansion, she took off her cloak and fled to the study.  He did not follow, and soon after, Maro and Macer stationed themselves inside the door to guard her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of research on different schools of magic and spells- I borrowed elements from Wicca and Voudoun to craft the Chasind spell.

Kit rubbed her eyes, exhaustion and irritation paramount in her thoughts.  She looked over at the other side of the room momentarily, involuntarily, and cursed silently when she realized she was looking for him.  Again.  The large room seemed empty and lonely without Fenris there, his implements and weapons neatly organized, the lamps unlit.  Kit looked back down at the odd Chasind book, frustration mounting.  She had been reading through Danarius' books for over a week, and if another source of power didn't present itself soon she was going to lose to Gaius Scipio.

 _It would have been so easy to give up, to simply let him kill me, and join Da and Mother and Bethany and Carver at the Maker's side.  If there is a Maker.  But now I have a household depending on me.  And I will not see them placed back into slavery or imminent death._

Kit admitted to herself that she was still rattled by her encounter with Fenris earlier.  His mouth had been so warm, his lips velvet-soft as they'd slid over her own.  His tongue had probed her mouth, gently, and at the sensation of his tongue on hers, she'd sagged, boneless, unable to stop herself from responding.  He'd pressed her so firmly against the wall, his gauntlets around her arms, his chestplate against her breasts, his thigh between hers, pressing to her core, gathering heat.  And then his lips had slipped to her neck, and he'd bitten her, leaving teeth-marks in her flesh, the pressure, pleasure bordering on pain at the suction, at the drag of his teeth.

Kit shook her head.  If she thought any more about it, she'd pull her hair out.  He hated her, hated what she was.  She didn't hate him, not at all, exasperating and mule-headed though he was.  If she gave in to the desire, the power she had over him as his owner, she'd simply be using him.  It wasn't as if he'd choose to be anywhere near her if he was free.  In some small way, it hurt her, broke her, every time he forced her to acknowledge her desire while simultaneously making it clear that he despised what she was.  Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then focused back on the book.  Turning the page, she realized that this next section was full of actual spells.  "To Finde Prosperitie and Monie," she read, and turned the page.  "To Heal or Cure Sufferinge-" she looked to the opposite leaf.  "To Conceive A Childe-" 

"Maker, no," she muttered, and quickly flipped through the next several pages.  The book seemed to contain an assortment of love spells, protection spells, revenge spells, and healing spells.  As Kit turned the page, she noticed a handwritten note in the margin, and took a look at the title of the spell.

"To Create Magickal Powere-"  Now that was promising.  Before trying to puzzle out the spell, she glanced at the much more legible note in the margin, recognizing Danarius' handwriting.  It read:

 _Lkly used b Flemeth  
in conj with f. spell  
req. reagents and p.  
spell uns. to slave  
poss q. powerful._

Kit's brow furrowed.   _Well, that's rather cryptic.  But...Flemeth?_   Kit wracked her brain for the little she remembered about the legendary Witch of the Wilds.   _She was some sort of Chasind goddess who went to war eons ago.  I think she was rumored to still be in the Korcari Wilds, luring men to their doom and siring witches with them before draining them to death or some such nonsense._   She looked back at the notes-  _Well, that would explain the 'f. spell'- likely the fertility one on the previous page._

Kit turned to the spell itself, and began to puzzle out the spidery writing and archaic language.

 _To Create Magickal Powere_

 _Remembere always the rule of Three  
What is sown so shall ye reape  
If intent be ille and consente lackinge  
Ye courte the attentions of the Voide  
And the path of Demons._

Well, that was a warning Kit could appreciate.  She had puzzled out that this Chasind "Rule of Three" was some sort of law binding their magic whereas all magical effects, for good or ill, revisited their caster threefold.  Kit shrugged- she was no blood mage, nor did she wish to harm anyone.  She continued reading the spell:

 _To begin:_

 _Prepare ye two lights, one each to honor the Lorde and Lady  
On a table consecrated withe salt and wine  
Perfume thy table with incense and present giftes  
Of blooms passionate and bright.  
Add to this the root of galang  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

Kit flipped back to the beginning of the book which listed reagents, and turned the pages until she came to 'Galang-'  _Ah, embrium.  A simple enough reagent to procure._   She flipped back to the spell.

 _Prepare ye a vessel for powere  
And place it upon yon table  
Or craft a channel to that which ye desire in magick  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

 _Write that which ye desire, a sigil of powere, thrice  
And burne it, the ashes scattered before ye on the vessel  
Then place ye stones of powere: krystal, ruby and sard  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

Kit nodded to herself.   _And Da thought those sigil-writing lessons were a waste.  So- salt, wine, incense, flowers, embrium-_  She ticked the list off mentally-  _The objects you're enchanting, perhaps with a spell to receive or hold the power, three copies of your sigil, and some quartz, ruby, and carnelian.  All fairly simple to procure._   She felt a sense of rising excitement.   _This might work!_   Kit continued reading:

 _Invoke the Watchtowers-  
the Guardianes of the Planes  
Earthe, Fyr, Aire and Water  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

 _Take thy lover in hande-_

Kit choked, suddenly, and began coughing, a rising sense of dread taking over.   _Thy lover?  What in the Maker's name-_   She shook her head and continued reading-

 _Take thy lover in hande  
Submit unto them their desire  
As they submit unto ye their powere  
Defile not the Lorde and Lady  
With forced couplinge  
Nor bloode not freely shed_

 _But in markinges of passion  
Or the givinge of maidenhoode  
The powere shall multiplie.  
So Take thy lover in hande  
Submit unto them their desire  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

 _When the rituale is compleat  
Give thanks to the Lorde and Lady  
Give thanks to the Watchtowers  
Drinke and eat withe your lover  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

Kit swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.  According to Danarius' notes, this was a powerful spell, used by the Witch of the Wilds herself, and could generate the power she needed.  Kit knew she could craft the sigils, the spells trapping the power in her armor and jewelry- enough power on reserve to see her through the duel.  Enough power to defeat Gaius Scipio.  However, in order to do so, she needed a simple list of ingredients, some basic preparation- and a willing partner to  _"Submit unto them their desire."_   According to Danarius' note, a slave would be unsuitable-  _Ah,_  she realized, suddenly,  _A slave cannot consent or even formulate desire in a manner recognizable as free will to this "Lord and Lady."  Unless, of course, they were independent enough to have a desire or will separate, or even contrary to, their owner._

Which meant, of course, that there was only one person, really, that she could ask.

Kit hid her face in her hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Large portion of this is peppered with references to Florence + The Machine's "Howl" because that's this romance's theme song, without a doubt.

_I'll just- I can keep looking...  I could just ask him.  Or maybe I could hire someone?  Does that count as 'free will?'_   Kit's thoughts whirled chaotically.   _I can't do this.  Not like this._

"My lady?"  Kit jerked her head up at Beatriz's uncertain voice.  "I've brought your evening meal, Magister."  Beatriz set the tray carefully down on the desk, then asked, meekly, "Is there aught else my lady needs?"

Kit looked at Beatriz, really looked at her, for a moment.  The older woman wore her hair up, neatly, plainly, the blond hair with streaks of white, along with the lines at the corner of her eyes attesting to her age.  Her grey eyes spoke volumes, full of uncertainty, and even now, fear.  

"Beatriz," Kit said, gently, "You are a valued member of this household.  I do not know what it is that provokes such fear in you-"

Beatriz looked down, hands nervously plucking at her gown.

Kit continued, "-but I am not cut from the same cloth as Danarius.  The suffering that gave him so much pleasure is abhorrent to me.  I vow before the Maker that I will not willingly hurt a member of this household, and that I will do everything in my power to protect all of us."

Some great tension released itself, and the elf took in a deep breath, nodding wordlessly.

"Thank you, Beatriz." Kit said, carefully.  "I require nothing more."

The woman bowed slightly, and left.  

 _I_  will  _do whatever it takes to protect all of us,_  Kit said to herself, firmly.

"Maro," she said, voice betraying none of her fear, "Can you please ask Fenris to join me?"

The curly-haired man bowed and left quickly.

 _Whatever it takes._

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris sat in the guard's quarters, well aware that he was hiding from her.  He stared into the fire, moodily.  He felt restless and angry, thoughts and desires clashing inside of him.  The voice inside him argued persuasively, while the beast inside of him snarled and paced in fear and desire.   _She is not responsible for my situation,_  his voice argued,   _Why am I angry at her?_

The beast raged in response.   _She is a magister, like all the others.  She hides what she is under a veneer of kindness.  She will show her corrupted, twisted heart sooner or later.  Better to tear it from her lying body than to give in to her games._

 _She is unlike any woman I have ever met,_  his voice insisted.   _She is not even Tevinter.  With her, it might be different._

He remembered the feel of his teeth dragging across her throat, the taste of her pulse beating under his lips, the feel of her arms against his bare palms, the steel of his gauntlets warm between his fingers and her flesh.  His thigh between hers, bodies pressed, and he'd wanted to take her, right there, his blood singing with the sound of her voice, her tone urging him on even as her words contradicted,  _Fenris, stop-_

He cursed, softly.

At the sound of the door, he looked up, quickly, in time to see Maro in the doorframe.  "The magister requires your presence, Fenris," the soft-spoken man said.

Fenris nodded and stood, pushing the beast inside down, down.  The Magister summons and the slave answers, he thought, bitterly, and followed Maro to the study.

Maro knocked, then pushed open the door, standing aside as Fenris entered the study.  Emerald eyes challenged golden, and a flush rose on Kit's face, but she kept her eyes on his.

"Come in, Fenris, please.  I need to speak to you-" her gaze flicked to Maro and Macer, "-alone."

Fenris spoke under his breath to the two men at the door, and they bowed at once and left.  As the door closed behind them, he stood, the defiant slave, and stared at her as the beast rose in him.

Kit looked down at the desk and Fenris noticed that her fingers played idly with the page of an open book.  The silence grew between them, until she said, finally, "I may have found a way to defeat Gaius Scipio."

Fenris remained silent.

"There is a spell in this book that may allow me to store power in lieu of blood magic."  Her voice trembled slightly.  "But-"

She visibly steeled herself.  "I will need your assistance to complete it."

Fenris raised an eyebrow.  "I am no mage," he responded, finally.

Kit swallowed.  "This is no Tevinter spell; it is a spell of the Korcari Wilds, and belongs to none of the recognized schools of magic."

Fenris watched the heat climb in her cheeks.  "And what is it, precisely, that requires my assistance?" he asked, warily.

Kit took in a deep breath, then raised her eyes to his.  "It is sex magic," she answered, holding his gaze.

Fenris' eyes widened, and he could not hold back the incredulous bark of laughter.  "You would take me to your bed after all, Magister?"  

Kit looked down at the page, and started to read:

 _Remembere always the rule of Three  
What is sown so shall ye reape  
If intent be ille and consente lackinge  
Ye courte the attentions of the Voide  
And the path of Demons._

She skipped a few passages, then continued:

 _Take thy lover in hande  
Submit unto them their desire  
As they submit unto ye their powere  
Defile not the Lorde and Lady  
With forced couplinge  
Nor bloode not freely shed_

 _But in markinges of passion  
Or the givinge of maidenhoode  
The powere shall multiplie.  
So take thy lover in hande  
Submit unto them their desire  
And pray to the Lorde and Lady, givinge thanks._

Her voice resonated, and Fenris felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck as she intoned the passages.

"There is a note here," her finger tapped on the page, "Written by Danarius.  He says that a slave is unsuited for the task, presumably because a slave cannot refuse the demands of their Magister, and thus is incapable of giving consent.  They cannot formulate a desire of their own, separate from the wish of their Magister.  Presumably this would also apply to a whore or anyone I could attempt to hire- there are few who would willingly agree to be part of this."

Her gaze rose to meet his, and she said, softly, "I cannot command this of you, Fenris.  Such a thing is anathema to the very nature of the working.  If you wish to refuse, you may do so, and I will continue to search for some other method."  She stood up and walked around the desk, closing the distance between them.

"If this is a matter in which you are willing," she continued, "then the manner in which the ritual progresses will be entirely at your discretion.  I will gather the neccessary reagents over the next few days, and cast the supporting spells to prepare for the ritual.  Your participation will provide the power I require to defeat the House of Scipio," she said, coming to a stop before him, as he watched her, still as a statue, "and I will submit to you in any way you desire."  

The beast inside him surged to the front, and Fenris could not help but growl the words:  "You would give me power over you?"

She had an object in her hand, and he looked down to see the silver collar he had worn so many nights ago.  "Let this be a sign of the compact between us.  If you agree, then on that night, for that time, I will be the slave, and you the master."  She held the collar out to him.

"Do you agree?" she asked.

Fenris unbuckled one gauntlet, pulling it off, and then the other, and set them on a small table.  He reached out and took the filigreed collar, pressing the catch that opened it along its hinge.  Warm hands placed it around her neck, and with a small click he fastened the collar.

"Agreed," he said, the gleam of the hunter in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

As the smooth metal of the collar surrounded her neck, Kit swallowed, nervously.  At the small click, she realized, suddenly,  _This is really going to happen._   Fenris' hands lingered at her neck, not touching, but the warmth of his skin radiated outwards.  She shivered, involuntarily, and looked up at him.  His shockingly vibrant green eyes met hers, and something in him sent a frisson of fear down her back.  The heat in his eyes was not the look of a lover, but something darker, deeper.

Fenris saw the trepidation in her pose, noticed the shiver, the look of fear as she met his gaze.  He knew that look- had in fact worn a similar expression more times than he cared to count.   _I want you, I hate you, I will have you.  I will_  own _you._   His voice and his beast merged in his head, knowing only that she would belong to him.   _You will pay for all that you have done to me._   He shook his head slightly, as if to ward off the darkest thoughts, then turned and abruptly stalked out of the room.  

Kit watched him go, something like relief washing through her as he left.  She turned back to the desk and snuffed the lit candles before heading to bed.  The room was empty, and Kit felt oddly caught between relief and disappointment at Fenris' absence.  She changed into her night shift and crawled into bed, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the thoughts in her head.  The unfamiliar collar was warm against her skin, and to her surprise Kit found that the emotions of the day had exhausted her.  She dropped almost immediately into sleep, not bothering to put out the candles in the room.

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris completed his nightly inspection of the house, the duty a welcome distraction from his own disquiet.  The darkness of his own thoughts repelled him.   _It was Danarius,_  he reminded himself,  _Danarius and Hadriana and anyone else they cared to entertain.  To punish her for the actions of another is wrong, evil._   And yet the hate sat inside him, flowing through his veins, every heartbeat an reminder of how they had twisted him, used him, his marks aching dully.  For all that they had branded his flesh, though, it was the memories seared into his mind that proved the greater wound.

 _Pain, those first few weeks, his flesh inflamed with the magic, the lyrium, and he had been so afraid.  Everything before gone, a white, blank wall in his mind, and everything after terrifying, humiliating, pleasure and pain sometimes mingled in ways that made him want to weep with shame.  He remembers the dark-haired woman, eyes like ice, cooing and petting him as he knelt, hobbled to the bedpost like an animal._   It's like breaking him all over again,  _she'd breathed to Danarius, and he'd shrunk away from her hand, trembling, and_  No, no, don't touch me, not again, please, it hurtsithurtsithurts- __

 _She'd done as she pleased.  He'd learned quickly that they always did._

********************************************************************************************************

Kit woke up the next morning to find Fenris awake and dressed as usual, waiting for her.  She crawled out from under the covers, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep, and sat on the bed for a few minutes as her head cleared.  She never woke easily, the half-dream half-real world of the Fade releasing her reluctantly from its grasp.  She stood, finally, and stretched, fingers interlaced above her, going up on tiptoe as she swayed slightly, her heatbeat quickening as surely as the blood in her veins.

Fenris watched her from across the room, and for a moment forgot all else as the tousled, golden-skinned woman before him closed her eyes and stretched her body towards the sky.  Her short night shift exposed several more inches of thigh, the loose sleeves falling back to reveal her slender wrists.  The silver collar glinted at her throat in the morning light, reminding him of the promise yet to be fulfilled.  She relaxed, then, letting out a deep breath, and walked over to the nightstand to wash her face.

He watched her openly, as he always did, and wondered for a moment what it would have been like to know her, in another life, another place, another time.  Perhaps in some other place, they would have come together, the inevitable pull between them a sweet, gentle thing instead of a poisoned trap.  Perhaps in that place, he would have walked up behind her, pulled her to him, buried his face in her neck and inhaled her sweet scent.  She would murmur love words at him, heavy with sleep, her body melting against him and together they would sway in the sunlight, drinking each other in like wine.

She stepped behind the screen to take care of her needs and dress, and as he lost sight of her he shook such useless thoughts away.  She was a noble, a Magister, a human tainted incurably with magic.  He was a slave, an elf, a strange caricature painted in ink and lyrium.  

He remembered the glances, the murmurs of fear, shock, titillation from the magisters who'd come to visit, dragging their fingers over him as he poured wine in their glasses.   _A waste to mar such a pretty lad,_  one had smirked, unfamiliar fingers threading through his hair,  _he might as well be one of those barbaric Dalish._   Another had sent a shock of agony along him, touching him with their cursed magic, and he'd crushed the bottle in his hand, the glass cutting into him as he'd rounded on the man, teeth bared.  His marks had started glowing brightly, and the man had backed up, fear evident as he'd brought his magic to the fore.   _Call off your dog, Danarius,_  the man had laughed, shakily, and the familiar feel of his Master's power had brought him to his knees, unable even to scream as the light, the heat had seared him from the inside out.

Kit stepped out from behind the screen, dragging him from the depths of the memory.  Something in his face must have given him away, because she stilled, searching his eyes with hers.  "Are you all right, Fenris,?" she asked, voice uncertain.  He nodded, curtly.  She watched him for a moment longer before turning and walking into the hall.  She knew by now that any further inquiries would be met with hostility.  "Let's have breakfast, then; I need to head into Minrathous proper for reagents today."

He followed her in silence.

********************************************************************************************************

 _Several days later..._

Kit rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension of the day.  She'd spent the entire day carefully crafting and copying the sigil, infusing the ornately drawn sign with raw power as she focused her will.   _I haven't done anything this bookish for years,_  she sighed to herself.  Her time with the mercenaries had been about battle magics and healing, and after that she'd continued to hone those skills before challenging Danarius.  Kit remembered learning sigil magic with Malcolm, so many years ago:

 _You can't just draw a picture of fire, sweets,_  he'd laughed.  She'd looked up at him with frustration, her hand stained with ink.   _Da, I want to go play outside with Carver,_  she'd whined.  Malcolm had shaken his head at her.   _Not yet; finish this up first, sweets.  Now write out what you want, in a sentence._

Kit had scowled at him, then scribbled, defiantly,  _I want to GO PLAY OUTSIDE WITH CARVER_  while his back was turned.  He'd turned back, fresh quill in hand, as she'd thrust the paper in his hand.  He'd choked with laughter at the angry scribble, his own golden eyes meeting his daughter's defiant ones.  They'd both heard Carver shriek with laughter, and Bethany's giggles join in as they chased each other.  He'd softened then, and setting the quill down, gave her a nod.   _All right, pet, go enjoy the sunshine.  We'll save this for a rainy day._   Her smile had flashed at him, brilliant, and she'd hugged him with a muffled  _Thanks, Da,_  then rushed outside.

Kit smiled at the memory, and at the rainy day that had followed eventually, where she'd called fire with concentration and paper.  His approval had meant everything to her, and whereas some parents dismissed their children with cuffs or harsh words, he'd always given all of them love, approval, attention, and care.

She glanced over at the stuffed divan next to the desk where Pesha napped, worn out from a day spent with Fenris.  The boy had found Fenris practicing forms the day before, and had begged and pleaded for the elf to teach him.  Fenris had eyed the boy quizzically, then looked up at Kit, a query in his eyes.  "By all means," she'd said with a smile, and had been hard-pressed to focus on the sigils for the rest of the day.  The elf's low voice had rumbled, mixed with the excited chatter of a six-year-old boy.  He'd found a small wooden practice sword, and the sight of him moving slowly from stance to stance, the boy at his side mimicking him, concentration on his face, had put a grin on Kit's face every time she looked up.

She set the sigils aside and brushed a lock of the boy's hair away from his face.  His skin was dark, like her own, and it gave her an odd sense that they were somehow family to look at him.  She looked over across the room where the elf sat in a chair, still as he always was when he guarded her, and yet somehow alone with his thoughts, and her own thought rose unbidden.

 _It's good to have a family again._

She cleaned up the ink and quills, realizing with a jolt that she now had everything the spell required.

 _I prepared my robes and staff yesterday, and we bought everything we needed in Market Square the day before that._  The pouch of salt and semi-precious stones sat on a small table nearby, a bottle of wine corked next to a decorated goblet.  Tiger lilies sat in a vase, the last rays of light shining through the water that held their dark green stems.  A pair of long white candles sat in holders on the table, their unblemished wicks ready to be lit.  The embrium root, chopped and dried, sat in a small dish on the table, its fragrance adding to the soft perfume in the air.

 _Tomorrow night, then,_  she thought, closing her eyes at the mingled fear and anticipation that raced through her.  Kit looked across the room, and noticed Fenris's eyes on her, the darkening shadows of night engulfing him.  He stood and walked over to her, noticing that she had finished her labors.

Kit took in a breath.  "Tomorrow night," she said, quietly, and watched something inside him ignite.  She broke the glance as she stood, pushing the chair into place against the desk, avoiding looking at him.  Pesha woke with a soft murmur at the scrape of the chair legs on the stone floor, and she smiled at him as he sat up.  "Shall we go have supper?" she asked him as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and then followed him as he walked out of the study.  Fenris followed behind them, silent as ever.


	7. Chapter 7

The rains returned the next day, the morning dawn overcast and grey.  Kit busied herself with a few matters of correspondence- the house in Alam had sold, rather quickly, actually, and the funds would be sent in several weeks.  Kit shook her head as she read the letter- it was clear that all of Minrathous' magisters and merchants were well aware of the upcoming duel, and were timing things accordingly.   _He's hoping that I die before he has to pay for the house,_  she thought, setting the letter down.  Pavo and Vitula stood guard, Vitula like a statue while Pavo grimaced in obvious boredom.  Kit had asked Fenris to give her the day to herself- she needed some time away from him to prepare herself for what was to come.

As the day wore on, Kit moved the reagents into her room, arranging things on the small table she'd brought in.  After she'd settled everything, she went to go find Beatriz.

She found the elf dusting those repulsive statues in what passed for a gallery, the rain trickling down the windows as the wind rattled the decorative iron grates.  "Beatriz," Kit called, and the woman turned with a look of surprise- Kit's distaste for Tevinter art was well-known among the household.

"My lady," she said, bowing slightly.  

Kit licked her lips nervously, then continued, keeping her tone casual, "I'll be working some magic this evening to prepare for my upcoming duel.  I'd like you to keep the staff on the other side of the house, just in case.  Fenris will see to my safety."

Beatriz nodded, eyes widening at the thought of magics dangerous enough to escape Danarius' stone chamber.  "Of course, my lady."

Kit added, "I'd also like a cold supper ready before I start, near sundown, if you please- just a few plates of bread, meat and cheese will be fine, and a pair of goblets."  

Beatriz bowed.  "Of course, Magister.  I'll see to it immediately."

Kit spent the rest of the afternoon reading- she'd found an intriguing history by a Brother Genitivi, detailing the rise and fall of several of Tevinter's Archons.  An hour before sunset, she went to the bathing room, bringing her best robe, some delicately scented soap and her favorite scented oil.  She bathed slowly, carefully, purifying herself, trying not to think beyond the present moment.  She got out of the bath and dried herself, dressing with care and daubing a hint of scent on her wrists.  She found that her hands were shaking slightly.

Kit left the bathing suite, noting the steady beat of the rain on the roof and walls of the mansion as night fell.  She turned to Pavo and Vitula.  "Fenris will be along shortly- you are dismissed.  Please join the rest of the household in your quarters."  

Vitula nodded and bowed, Pavo hesitating briefly.  The elf looked discreetly at the Magister, noting the robes, the scent, the extra care which Kit had taken in her toilette.  The woman looked up in time to see Fenris approaching, his shock of white hair damp.  As he nodded to the guards, dismissing them, Pavo smirked knowingly.  As she walked off, she whispered in a voice for him alone, "Dangerous magics, hmm, Fenris?"  He flushed, slightly, and as she walked away, the guard sneered.  

As they neared the end of the hallway, Vitula looked over at Pavo, noting the woman's sour expression.  "What is it this time, Pavo?" the brunette asked.

Pavo looked over at her fellow guard.  "Both of them bathing, with a dinner for two and the house cleared to the other wing of the house?"  she said, in a tone full of scorn.  "Fenris seems to worm his way into the bed of every Magister in Tevinter, don't you think?"

Vitula looked askance at the irritable elf.  "And he's come back, more often than not the worse for it, don't you think?  Or do you forget the month he spent in the guard quarters recuperating after Hadriana's last visit?"

Pavo threw up a hand dismissively.  "His attitude infuriates the magisters, on purpose, no doubt."  She scowled.  "He's as twisted as those marks on his skin."  Vitula shrugged as they reached their quarters, not caring to continue the conversation further.  "Let's hope this Magister leaves him in one piece, at least," she said, opening the door.

On the other side of the house, a man and a woman stood briefly in the darkening shadows of night, the silence of the house broken only by the gentle sound of the rain.

********************************************************************************************************

Kit and Fenris stood for a moment in the hallway as the shadows lengthened.  Kit had no idea what to say, but finally spoke, quietly, "We should get started."  She walked to the bedchamber, Fenris following.  She walked to the small table, hearing the soft click of the door as he engaged the lock.  Heat rose in her cheeks.

Fenris closed and locked the door, the scent of her on the air, surrounding him.  She wore a simple red robe, the belt tight around her waist, the scarlet red offsetting her golden skin.  He noted the small covered tray which held their cold dinner, then walked over to the low table where he kept his armor at night.  He removed gauntlets, chestplate, shoulders and shinguards with practiced ease, setting his sword in its baldric next to the armor.  He turned and walked to her, clad only in his black tunic and leggings, his markings shining against his skin in the candlelight.

Kit arranged the two candles in their candlesticks on the back of the large, rectangular table, and with a wisp of power lit them.  Fenris shivered slightly as her magic brushed invisibly along his skin.  He watched as she took the small dish of rock salt, her attention focused as she scattered the salt crystals onto the dark wood of the table.  She then uncorked a bottle of wine, filling two goblets.  The fruity, alcoholic tang filled the air, and she dipped two fingers delicately in one goblet, scattering droplets across the table, then dipped her fingers in the other, repeating the process.

Fenris watched her in the candlelight, the red of her robe, the red of the wine that stained her hand, droplets running down to collect in between her fingers.  He wanted to lap those stray droplets from her, the spicy scent of her mixing with the heady taste of the wine.  She set the goblets in front of the candles, then picked up a stick of incense, lighting it with the candle before pursing her lips to blow out the flame.  She carefully, slowly traced a pattern in the air with the fragrant smoke,then set the stick in a holder on the table before turning to the vase of tiger lilies.  She lifted the blossoms, setting their waxy blooms in between the two candles.

Fenris shivered as a feeling of pressure rolled across his skin.   _Something_  was slowly building in this room, a magic unlike any he'd ever felt before, and he took in a breath, anger borne in him as the sensation rolled along the marks, under his skin, as if he were being simultaneously stroked and flayed with a knife.  He set his teeth against the pain and pleasure, helpless before its onslaught.

Kit took up the small dish of dried embrium root, tracing the circles of the goblets with a trail of the dried root.  She then set the dish down, closed her eyes and bowed her head, her fingers steepled together in the familiar pose of the penitent.  She remained in this pose for several moments, then opened her eyes, bowing slightly to each candle.

She turned to the small side table, where a a thick, quilted battle-robe lay folded, the reinforced cloth showing signs of having been oft-mended.  She set the robe on the table in front of the goblets, then picked up her simple bladed staff from where it lay, setting it behind the robe, where it ran from one end of the table to the other.  After placing the items carefully on the table, she closed her eyes and prayed once more.

Fenris was reminded of the times he'd sat, bound, in this room, blood running down him in rivulets as Danarius chanted.  The feel of that blood magic, consuming him, crawling along his skin, making him want to retch as his Master had summoned some foul magic or other.  His lip curled in distaste at the memory, his expression changing abruptly as the building magic pulled at him.  He couldn't help the intake of breath, closing his eyes as the familiar caress and burn of a spell wending its way across his body.  His memory, shifted, suddenly, and he nearly whimpered as he was

 _back in that place, and the dark-haired woman with the eyes of ice traced the markings on his torso.  His Master sat in the shadows, a low chuckle of amusement as Fenris had hissed in agony at the electricity from her fingers.  She had gripped him, suddenly, and thank the Maker there were no markings_ there _for her to use against him.  He'd looked at her with fear in his eyes, and she'd released him, walked a few paces away, then struck his cheek with the full force of her body behind her palm.  It was beginning, another night of this, he wasn't screaming yet, but the night was young and-_

He snapped back to the present, trembling, the fury rising in him as the mage before him built her spell.  Kit remained focused on the spell, took up the first piece of parchment on which her sigil was drawn, setting it alight from the first candle.  She held the paper as it curled and burned in her palm, intent as it was reduced to ashes.  She crushed the frail, ashen remnants in her hand, then turned her palm, letting the gray fragments fall onto the robe.  She took the second sigil, lit it in the second candle, and repeated the process, sprinkling the ashes over her staff.  The final sigil she lit first in one candle, then lit the other side in the second candle, spreading the remnants across both items.  

Kit then reached with ashen palms and arranged the quartz, ruby, and carnelian around the items, returning to her pose of prayer once the items were placed.  She bowed again to each candle, each goblet, the wind outside picking up as the rain began to intensify.

The magic surged again, the pressure in the room increasing.  Fenris' marks began to glow as he breathed between clenched teeth, his blood molten in his veins, hard and ready, his cock straining against his leggings.   _Oh, Maker, it_  hurt,  _like salt and glass and fire in his veins-_

Kit turned to the stones on the table, and said, in a clear voice, "I call upon  _Folth,_  the element of earth, Watchtower of the land." She raised her gaze to the candles, and continued, "I call upon  _Hyrr,_  the element of fire, Watchtower of the sun."  Kit turned to the wafting incense, smoke curling, and intoned, "I call upon  _Vindr,_  the element of wind, Watchtower of the skies."  Finally, she turned to the goblets of wine, saying, "I call upon  _Vatn,_ element of water, Watchtower of the seas."  She prayed once more, bowing towards the goblets, and suddenly, the pressure in the air snapped.  The magic retreated, waiting, watching, and Fenris gasped as the sudden cessation of agony, staggering slightly-

 _It ends, it always ends, then it begins again, and again, worse than before, until he is screaming, begging, tears and blood and sex and that damnable_  laughter  _as they take him, force him, and nothing matters, an agony of endless time as he is held, restrained and taken, his body betraying him, and it is they who have done this, who will always do this, because he is the perfect plaything for a mage, and he wants to kill them all, bathe in their blood and rip their hearts from their bleeding corpses, and he will, someday, they will slip, he will be free, and then they will_ pay-

Fenris snapped back to the present, panting, hard and ready and full of want, beyond fury, marks glowing as the echoes of agony began to fade.  Kit turned to him, her bronzed skin warm in the candlelight, the magic caressing her like a lover, flowing like water over her.  Her eyes widened as she took in his figure, bathed in the blue-white glow of lyrium, an expression of terrible purpose on his face.  He closed the distance between them in an instant, and before she could react he backhanded her across the room.  "If you call your magic again I will make sure you regret it,  _slave_ ," he growled, stalking over to where she lay in shock, a hand pressed to her face.

She whimpered in fear as he pulled her roughly to her feet, the glow of his marks fading, and then suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding and  _angry._   His fingers dug into her arms, relentlessly, as he scraped her lip roughly with his teeth, and she tried to speak against his mouth, "Fenris-"

He shook her, suddenly, cutting her off.  "Silence," he hissed, and dragged her over to the bed, pushing her suddenly, and she stumbles against the bedpost.  He watches her, emerald eyes aflame with passion or rage, and when he speaks again it is an order.  "Strip, mage," he says, roughly.

Kit is wide-eyed in shock- she realizes that something is terribly wrong, but the look in his eyes tells her that now is not the time to question him.  She quickly undoes the belt, slips off the red robe, and it pools like blood at her feet.

Fenris watches her, her meek submission soothing some of the beast in him.  She is clad now only in a light shift and her smalls, her nipples hard and pink against the gauzy fabric.  He waits, and she realizes that he means for her to remove everything.  She pulls the shift over her head with shaking hands, and as it falls to the floor he advances on her, deliberate, the rage in him barely contained.  He undoes the top few toggles to his tunic, then draws it in one smooth motion over his head, the silvery lines beautiful and cruel against his skin.  

Suddenly he is on her, and she is pushed to the bed as he covers her, his muscles taut as he pins her beneath him.  He begins to bite her, teeth sinking in just enough that she's sure the flesh will bruise, first her shoulder, then the mound of her breast, and she feels wetness gathering between her thighs as his tongue and lips and teeth suck and lick and bite at her.  

He rolls to the side and pulls her roughly onto her stomach, and she notices for the first time that there is a long mirror running the length of the headboard, and she can see him behind her as he lifts her roughly and pulls her smalls off.  His leggings follow and he is on her, again, his body warm and hard and heavy, his cock digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks.  His hand reaches up, the tracings of lyrium visible on his palm in the mirror, and grabs a handful of her short, dark hair.  He pulls her head level with his, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, his mouth at her ear.  

"Do you know how many times I have been taken in this bed?"  he whispers, roughly, pulling her hair until her eyes tear up.  "Magic, like a knife in my veins, and they took me, while I begged them to stop-" 

She feels his other hand between her legs, and he finds her, tight and wet and untried, fear and dark desire pooling in her belly as he shifts, nudging her with his hips until she's almost on her knees, legs spread.

She feels him behind her, pushing into her, and his eyes are on hers as she moans, low and fearful.  He can't get far, she's so very, very tight, and not ready for this, and then he's pushing again, back and forth, a little further with each stroke, until suddenly the head of his cock is inside and he's pushing, harder.

He lets go of her hair to grab her hips, and he pulls back, just enough to spread her wetness inside her, and then with another push there is a tug and give within her, and she lets out a high-pitched cry as he pierces her, takes her, his hips flush with her ass.

He doesn't stop, simply lets his weight bear her into the bed, and he's thrusting harder, with short, vicious thrusts as she whimpers in pain.  His breathing changes, he's close, so close, and she closes her eyes as he sets his teeth in her shoulder.  He moans and thrusts, as deep as he can, emptying himself into her with a final few strokes.  His head drops on her shoulder, and his body relaxes against her.

The magic surges, suddenly, the spell completing itself, and his body goes rigid as he screams in agony.  He rolls off of her, out of her, and falls to the floor, curled tightly into himself as waves of magic  _pull_  towards the table, into the waiting spells, like a key in a lock.


	8. Chapter 8

Kit felt the magic wash over the both of them, and with a shock heard Fenris' hoarse scream.  

 _Oh, Maker, what have I done to him?  What happened here, with us?_

She rolled to the side of the bed, whimpering slightly in pain as the bruises forming and that new place, that soreness inside made itself felt.  She noticed the wetness between her thighs, the mix of her maiden blood and his seed soaking the sheets as she sat up.   _Well, I knew that was going to happen.  But what in Andraste's name went wrong with Fenris?_

Kit stood, wobbling slightly, then knelt next to Fenris' shaking body.

"Fenris?" she said, fear and uncertainty coloring her voice.  "The spell is done, Fenris- oh, Maker, please, tell me what's wrong-"

Fenris uncurled a bit, taking in a shaking breath, the white-blue glow of his marks fading into their normal silver sheen.  He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his hands and knees, then using the bed as leverage he pulled himself up to sit on the bed, then covered himself with a sheet.  His hair was tousled, tangled, hanging in his eyes as he refused to meet Kit's gaze.  He licked his lips, and as Kit stood, he finally spoke.

"I...I was not myself.  I apologize.  The magic-" he shivered, and Kit bit her lip.  "Small magics, individual spells, healings, and the like, feel like a burn of both pleasure and pain.  With a larger Working such as this-"  His hands gripped the sheet tightly- "The sensations were amplified a hundredfold.  I was...unprepared, and there were memories..."  His voice trailed off, and Kit swallowed, remembering his words-

 _Do you know how many times I have been taken in this bed?  Magic, like a knife in my veins, and they took me, while I begged them to stop-_

"Oh, Maker, Fenris, I am so sorry."  Kit walked over to where her robe lay on the floor, and with a few quick movements had picked it up and put it on.  

His voice came from behind her, rough with some emotion.  "Magister..."

Kit let out a strained laugh.  "After this, I think you can call me Kit, if you please."  She toyed with the tie on her belt, afraid to face him, unsaid words heavy in the silence.

"...Kit," he began, uncomfortably, "There is...  blood, here.  You are- injured?"

She shook her head silently.  "No more so than is to be expected, Fenris.  I had never been with a man in this way prior to tonight."  She tried to keep her voice neutral.

She heard the intake of breath behind her, and walked over to the table, examining the robe and staff, avoiding looking in his direction.

Fenris spoke again, confusion obvious, "But...before, you-" he stumbled over his words, not sure how to phrase what he was trying to say- "you and I, in this bed, on the floor-"

Kit laughed a bit at his confusion, some of the tension dissipating.  "I spent a year in service with mercenaries, Fenris.  I never wanted a partner, but I received a thorough education in the ways of men and women- or men and men, or women and women, for that matter.   And when you are put in certain situations, or have certain feelings, or the people two bunks away are being especially vocal-"  She smiled, cheeks warming slightly.  "Let's just say that you learn to take care of your own needs."

She heard him shift on the bed behind her, and moved her gaze to the table.  "The spell is done, but there are a few last things we need to take care of.  First and foremost-" she walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer filled with clean linen rags, pulling out several.  She then walked over to where he sat on the bed, emerald eyes watching her from the curtain of his hair, and handed him a cloth.  "I need to clean myself, and I'm sure you need to do the same.  I'll be behind the screen."

Kit walked behind the privacy screen and cleaned herself, carefully, wincing slightly at the touch of linen on sensitive, sore flesh.  She gave him a few more moments, hearing the bed creak as he stood, the whisper of cloth as he no doubt drew on some of his clothes.  She straightened her robe, folded the cloth into a small square in her hand, then stepped from behind the screen to find him still without his tunic,clad in his leggings.  He flushed when he handed the cloth to her, and she tossed them on the bed without a word.

She moved, then, before the table, and closed her eyes, praying briefly.   _Thank you, Lord, and thank you, Lady, for this gift of power.  Thank you, Folth, Hyrr, Vindr, Vatn, Watchtowers of the elements for your guidance tonight.  Know that what I gave tonight was freely given, and that the pain inflicted was unintentional and regretted._

She felt the last of the magic drain away, the sense of being  _watched_  fading.

She turned to find Fenris watching her, the firelight gleaming off of his marks, his expression unreadable.  "Well," she said, "The last of the spell requires that we eat."  She walked over to the covered tray, and pulling off the lid found two plates of cold meats, cheese, a selection of sliced fruit and two goblets and a bottle of wine waiting.  She filled the goblets with wine, then grabbed a plate and walked over to the fur that still lay on the floor in front of the fireplace.  She carefully lowered herself to the ground, wincing slightly until she was comfortably seated cross-legged on the fur, then set the plate and goblet to the side.

She looked up to see the elf standing still, his eyes still on hers, and met his gaze, finally, golden eyes capturing emerald.  Fenris found himself unable to look away as the golden woman in front of the fire, clad in scarlet, the woman whose body he had taken, for the first time, without care or feeling, looked at him with an emotion he had never seen before.  The voice inside him was silent, unable to articulate the odd feeling she evoked in him, and the beast, anger sated, had only one thing to add.

 _She is mine.  From this night on, only mine._

"Please," she asked him, gently, "join me?"

He took the plate and goblet, then walked over to her, seating himself on the fur across from her.

They ate and drank in silence, the cracks and pops of the dying fire counterpoint to a curious peace. 

********************************************************************************************************

They finished eating in front of the dying fire, the sound of the rain outside falling ever gently as the storm began to subside.  Kit stood, slowly, then took her plate and goblet over to the empty tray and set them down.  Fenris copied her, then watched as she took her staff and robe from the table, carrying them, inexplicably, into the hallway.  She set them down on the floor, then came back in the room to find Fenris watching her quizzically.  

"Please move your armor and sword into the hall," she said, "and bring the tray as well."

She then went back into the room and methodically removed the few articles of clothing and robes that she had in the drawers, along with a few other belongings.  After five or so minutes, she had moved all of her personal items into the hall, while Fenris watched her, utterly confused, his armor and sword also in the hall.  He had put his tunic back on and carried out the tray.

Kit turned to him then, and said, quietly, "Go fetch Beatriz, please.  I have something here I need to take care of."

He stood in the hallway and watched as she turned to the room, and then he  _felt_  a building power, magic, as she cast-

Through the doorway, he watched as the bed burst into flame.

She focused, her palm twisting as she commanded elemental energies, the expression on her face suddenly wrathful, the fire intensifying.

"Go.  Get.  Beatriz."  She gritted out, and without another word he turned and walked quickly down the hall.

He heard the sound of shattering glass as she broke a window in the bedroom with raw magic, and the smoke that had begun to creep into the hall was sucked into the night instead.

Minutes later, Beatriz hurried down the corridor, followed by Fenris.  "Magister...?" the woman said, her voice quavering at the sight of Kit, robes askew, eyes fierce, nearly glowing with magic and anger.

"Fenris and I will require another room," Kit said, her voice tightly controlled, "And if possible I would prefer it to be a room unused by Danarius or any other Void-damned magister."

"Of course, my lady, I'll prepare another chamber at once."  The woman walked quickly down the hallway, eager to escape the inexplicable, seemingly irrational behavior of the Magister.

Kit brought her hand together, into a fist, and the sound of wood breaking could be heard even in the hallway, the fire burning brighter, consuming what little remained in the room.  She held a wall of force between the fire and the hall, preventing the spread of fire and smoke further into the house.

Releasing all but the wall, she turned to Fenris, eyes aglow.  "I can't undo what was done, Fenris, but, Maker help me, I'll not let such reminders of the past remain, of that you have my word."

Fenris watched her for a moment, then looked past her, at the burning remnants of Danarius' bed.  He found himself moving towards Kit without conscious thought.  He took her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheek, lyrium-traced fingers in her hair, palms holding her jawline, and kissed her, slowly, gently, eyes fluttering shut, something inside him healing at last.


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris kissed her softly, gently, lips and tongue teasing, seducing rather than conquering, and Kit lost herself in the sensations.  Their world narrowed down to the press of velvet lips, the slow laps of tongues paired with gentle suction, the soft pressure of teeth applied for pleasure rather than pain.

They separated, feeling the mingling of breath, the fire between them which threatened to ignite at the slightest provocation.  Fenris released her reluctantly, hands ghosting over her face and neck as she turned to face Beatriz.

"Magister, I've prepared a chamber for you..."  Beatriz' voice trailed off as she looked from Fenris to Kit, a small blush rising in her cheeks.  "If you please, my lady, Fenris, this way."  

Kit grimaced slightly as the woman turned to lead them down the hall.   _I hope she doesn't think I'm taking advantage of him._   She picked up the staff and robes, the precious items imbued with a reservoir of power that projected so strongly, Kit was surprised they didn't glow, and followed Beatriz.  Fenris picked up his armor and sword and walked silently behind them.

"Here, Magister," Beatriz gestured, opening a door at the end of the hallway, to the right.  Unlike Danarius' previous room, which had only high windows and stone floors, this much more humble chamber was panelled in honeyed wood, with a matching dresser and a plain bed in the center.  A rather large window, complete with the requisite wrought iron grate, looked out upon the orchard to the back of the mansion.  A small fireplace stood to the side of the room, where Beatriz had already kindled a tiny fire.  The medium-sized bed had also been hastily made up with simple white sheets and a red quilted blanket.

Kit looked around, feeling more at ease in this comfortable, plain chamber than she had since assuming Danarius' estate.  

"Will this do, my lady?"  Beatriz fretted.  "It's much smaller than the other chambers-"

"It's lovely, Beatriz," Kit smiled.  "It reminds me of home."  Kit opened the wardrobe that stood to the side and hung up the imbued robe, then set her staff in the corner of the room.  "Fenris and I can move the rest of our things."

Beatriz bowed slightly, avoiding looking at Fenris.  "As my lady wishes.  If there is aught else?"

Kit shook her head.  "Thank you Beatriz- I'll make sure the fire in the other room is extinguished, and we can have it cleared out in the morning."  Beatriz nodded and left the chamber.

Kit turned and looked at Fenris, who was watching her inscrutably.  Kit gulped- he seemed so much closer, and different, in this small, intimate room.  "Shall we bring everything else in, then?"  Fenris put his armor and sword on a low table by the door, then followed as she returned to the hallway outside of Danarius' chamber.  Kit stood inside the doorway, and concentrated-

The smoldering remnants of the room were suddenly blanketed in cold and ice, the fire dying immediately.  She then sketched a sigil in the air, and the wall of force holding back the smoke shimmered slightly.  "There," she said, "That'll hold for another hour or two until the smoke dissipates."  She turned to the small pile of belongings outside the door and picked up the stack of neatly folded clothes.  Fenris picked up his two spare sets of clothing, identical to that which he was currently wearing, and followed her back to the chamber.

After about ten minutes they had everything stowed in the new room.  Kit looked at Fenris, the aches and emotions of the night catching up with her, and found herself yawning.  "Shall we-" she yawned again, belatedly covering her mouth with her hand, "get some sleep?"

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris stood uncertainly on the other side of the room.  After a few seconds, he said, hesitantly, "You are not...angry with me?"  His hair fell in his eyes as he looked at the ground.  "What we did tonight was not gently done."

Kit walked toward him, and reached out a hand, noting that he flinched, ever so slightly, away from her touch.  She took his hand in hers and turned it, palm up, tracing the sensitive markings on his palm and fingers.  "I didn't realize that the spell would cause you pain, and neither did I realize that the circumstances would remind you of other... treatment you have suffered."

She took a breath, letting the words settle in, as the small fire burned low in the fireplace.  "I think there was pain inflicted on both sides tonight, and neither intentional.  So I told the Lord and Lady."

He relaxed minutely at her words, and she continued.  "I, for one, am exhausted.  Let's figure out who should be angry at whom tomorrow, perhaps?"  She looked at his face as he raised his eyes to hers, seeing the slight quirk of his lips at her sally.  

"As you would have it, my lady," he responded.  She released his hand, gently, and moved to the wardrobe, taking off the red robe and hanging it up.  She heard a slight intake of breath behind her as he realized she was bare underneath it, and heard the whisper of his feet against the stone tiles as he drew up behind her.  She felt a finger tracing a rapidly bruising bite mark on her shoulder, moving down to the small scrape on her hip where she'd fallen against the floor.  

When he pressed soft lips to her shoulder in silent apology, she leaned back against the silk of his tunic, his chest solid and warm against her back.  She felt his hands come up, his lyrium-traced fingers smoothing down her arms, pulling her gently into line with his body.  She stood there for a moment, unable to hide the hitch in her breath as she was pressed against the hardness of him, his body all flat planes and warm muscle, separated by the fine weave of his tunic.  She tugged away, slightly, and turned in his arms, and wrapped her own arms around him.

They stood that way for a long moment, Kit tucking her head against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat, and his arms came hesitantly around her.  

"What..." his voice trailed off uncertainly, "Why are we standing here?"  Kit felt a frisson of desire move through her at the rumble of his low voice, and answered, softly, "People who like each other embrace one another, even in Tevinter, I'd think.  Or is that not common amongst families here?"

She felt him tense against her, and he responded, shortly, "I do not know."

Kit craned her head up to look at him, pulling back slightly, and asked, "Have you been a slave all your life, then?  Have you no memory of your parents?"

Fenris set his teeth against the familiar helplessness, and looked over her head at the fire.  "The ritual that gave me my markings also stripped me of my memory.  Whatever life, or family, I had before that is lost to me."

Kit's eyes widened at that, but she continued.  "Family aside, have you never had friends, or a lover of your choosing, someone that you'd touch in affection?"

Fenris stepped slightly back and turned away from her, something in her voice both irritating and unnerving him.  "Friends... Gavin, and Tristram, perhaps.  As for lovers..."

His back tensed as he tried to shield himself from her inevitable distaste, or pity, "Danarius and Hadriana taught me all that they wished, and used me or gave me to others to please or be used."

********************************************************************************************************

Kit was silent behind him, and then, suddenly he heard the whisper of her feet as she came up behind him.  Her arms slipped under his, wrapped around his torso in a gentle embrace, and she rested her head against his back.  "...I'm sorry," she said, at length.

Fenris stiffened, slight anger coloring his voice.  "I don't need pity."

"I know," she replied against his back, and waited, quietly, until the tension began to leave him.

"...Perhaps, tomorrow," her voice came, hesitantly, "We can look through Danarius' records.  He might have kept some account of your family.  If you'd like."

He took in a deep breath, afraid to acknowledge the spark of hope that jumped within at her words.  "I'd like that."

She released him, then, and took his hand.  Fenris turned to look at her, and Kit smiled a little.  "Shall we get some sleep then?  We don't have to..." she pinkened- "We can just sleep, if you like."

He looked down at her, the soft blush on her golden skin, her body bare before him, gleaming in the firelight.  He stepped away, slightly, and pulled his tunic back over his head.  Tossing it aside, he stepped forward again, and taking her face in his hands bent down to kiss her.

She couldn't help the small, soft sound that escaped her as his lips moved over hers, the gentle, seductive touch turning her liquid, molten in his arms.  His hands skimmed down her neck, and as they met the silver collar, warmed with her body heat, he broke the kiss.

"You still wear this," he near-growled, and Kit looked up at him, unsure of what to say.  

"Did you mean what you said," he continued in a low voice, "That what's between us has nothing to do with magisters or slaves?"

She held his eyes with hers, and nodded, finding her voice.  "Just you, and just me."

Kit heard the  _click_  as his fingers undid the clasp on the collar.  He slid it gently from her neck, and with a sudden movement threw it, violently, against the wall.

As it clattered to the ground, his lips captured hers again, stepping foward, his body pushing her towards the bed.


	10. Chapter 10

Kit sighed at the feel of Fenris' lips on hers, warm and insistent without being rough.  He backed her gently up until the backs of her calves hit the bedframe.  Breaking the kiss, his eyes met hers, and she shivered slightly at the possessive look in his eyes.  "On the bed," he said, voice rough, and she complied, turning from him to push back the covers and crawl on top of the sheet.  She turned to face him, sitting cross-legged, watching as he pulled off his leggings before climbing onto the bed beside her.  

They watched each other for a long moment, and Kit wondered if he was as uncertain as she.  He reached out a hand and smoothed it along her side, his warm skin nearly the same color as hers, the white lines of lyrium light against both of them.

Golden eyes held emerald, and she could feel the tension he was holding back.

"I don't want to hurt you," Fenris said, quietly.

Kit thought for a moment, then replied, softly, "Lay back."  He complied, reclining on the bed, and she moved to straddle his thighs, letting out a soft gasp as her sore flesh came into contact with his hardness.

"A moment," she said, and closed her eyes, funnelling a tiny tendril of magic  _just so-_

He shivered slightly but was otherwise unaffected by the healing magic she'd carefully applied, within.

She looked at him then, eyes full of desire, and ran her hands along his chest, gently tracing his skin, skimming over a nipple.  She rubbed her palms over his belly, enjoying the feeling of his warm, smooth skin against her hands.  She felt him sit up, arms coming around her, and suddenly, she was cradled in his lap, his arms pulling her tight to him.  

Kit sighed at the feeling of his chest against her breasts, nipples peaking at the contact, his hands smoothing up her back, holding her against him.  The length of him pressed against her, and he shifted slightly until he was pressed against her nub, eliciting a soft cry.  His lips touched her neck, and he began to lay soft kisses there, tracing a path with his tongue before following with lips, his breath warm and gentle, feathering lightly on her skin.  She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, leaning her head back to give him more access to the sensitive skin of her throat.

As she leaned back, he rocked his hips, and Kit let out a soft mewl as he rubbed up against her most sensitive spot.  She was drowning in sensation, the feel of his strong arms holding her, muscles taut as he rocked, his thighs underneath her, his mouth and tongue becoming more insistent at her throat.  His hardness slid against her, the base of him against her moist entrance, the length of him moving along her slit.  She leaned back, slightly, one hand on the bed supporting herself so that she could thread her hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the thick silvery strands against her fingers.  

Fenris leaned in, bending his head to take her nipple in his mouth, and her breath caught at the feel of his warm lips and tongue suckling her, lapping at her.  They were both breathing faster, the movement of his hips becoming more insistent, her soft cries and his muffled moans filling the silence.  She moved the hand in his hair to trace one delicate ear, feeling his muscles stiffen as he gasped.  He shifted, then, mouth leaving her breast as he moved the head of his cock to her tight, wet entrance, pushing slowly but insistently, both of them crying out at the sensation as he filled her, rocking back and forth until he was fully seated inside her.

There were no words, then, as he held her tight, leaning her back as he increased the pace, short, quick thrusts that made her whimper with pleasure.  "Fenris," she gasped, "Oh, Maker, that feels-" She had no words to describe the feeling of him, so hard, that perfect pressure inside that rubbed, caressed, building a heat that threatened to consume her.  He slowed, then, and lifted her effortlessly, pulling her to the middle of the bed before laying her back against the pillows.  He sat back slightly on his heels, and she watched, dazed, as he put his thumb to his lips, licking it, eyes on hers, before moving to rub her at the joining of their bodies.  

Her eyes fluttered shut and her head tilted to the side, lost in pleasure as he stroked his callused thumb over her nub in time with his thrusts.  "Fenris," she gasped, tightening around him as he expertly coaxed pleasure from her, "Oh,  _Maker_ , Fenris-"  He picked up the pace, the desperation in her voice as that velvet sheath constricted around him wringing a low growl from his throat.  He felt it then, the moment she began to crest, crying out as she vised around him, so tight, and hot, and wet, and he moved to cover her body with his, pounding harder, faster as his own pleasure found him, his deep cries of completion blending with her own.


	11. Chapter 11

For a few moments, they relaxed, the quiet of night only broken by the sounds of their breathing and the warm crackle of the fire.  The rain fell quietly outside, the storm quieting as midnight fell in Minrathous.  Kit wrapped her arms around Fenris' waist as he made as if to move.

"Stay, please," she asked, holding him to her, savoring the connection of their bodies, the feel of him pressing her into the bed.

"Am I not too heavy?" he murmured into her ear.

"You feel-" Kit struggled to explain.  "I feel as though I'll float away, and you're the only thing holding me here, with you."  She sighed, hugging him tightly.  "It feels like I'll wake up, any moment, and none of this will have happened.  I'll wake up back in that room, you on the other side of that bed, hating me-"  She stopped, throat momentarily tight.  

"I don't hate you," he said, quietly, after a moment.  They lay together for a few more moments before he rolled to the side, pulling her with him as their bodies gently disengaged.  He lay on his side, facing her, his eyes uncertain.  After a moment, he spoke again, eyes lowered.  "I am your slave, an elf, branded like an animal, a magister's freakish plaything with no past and no future.  None of this bothers you?"

Kit sucked in a breath, her chest aching at his words.  "Fenris," she said, softly, "You are not the monster you paint yourself to be."

He said nothing, eyes refusing to meet hers.  Kit steeled her tone.  "First of all, the fact that you're a slave has nothing to do with your value as a living being.  It wasn't your choice, and it's not mine, either.  Believe me when I say that everyone in this household  _will_  be freed once this duel is over.  The only reason I have yet to do so is because Danarius spent money like a fool and a wastrel, and this grand estate I've inherited is up to its tits in debt."

She sighed and rolled onto her back, closing her eyes.  "I have enough coin to free perhaps ten of you, now, and believe me, I intend to do so in the next few days."  He was silent at her side.

She continued:  "Secondly, I have nothing against elves.  You might as well put me in the midst of a camp full of Dalish and point fingers at me for being human.  We are what we are, and I don't believe that you're any less or any more of a person based on your heritage."

"Thirdly-" she rolled to face him, propping herself up on an elbow, and as his eyes met hers, she let her own gaze rove over the muscled, lyrium-traced lines of his body, hiding none of the desire she felt.  "My only regret with your markings is that they have caused and apparently continue to cause you pain.  Aside from that-" she reached out a hand, tracing a line that trailed languidly down his side, "They are visually quite beautiful, as are you."  He let out a small sound as she splayed her palm over his hip, possessively.  "I don't know what was said to make you think otherwise, but I have been unable to keep my eyes from you since the moment we met."

She let her hand rest against him, bringing her gaze back up to meet his.  "Fourthly, you're no plaything to me.  I can't honestly say exactly what we are to each other."  She paused for a moment, then said, quietly, "Friends, perhaps, as well as lovers."

She moved in, then, pulling him to her, breathing in his clean scent, enjoying the feel of his warm, bare skin against hers as she fitted her body to his, tucking her head into his chest, arm around his waist.  "Lastly, I'm a human, a mage who in any other land than this would be locked up for being cursed with Chantry-condemned powers, with no family, no friends, no great wealth, no power or political position.  I'm a Ferelden refugee who will always be sneered at in what passes for polite company in Tevinter."

She felt his arm come around her shoulder, tentatively pulling her close, his breath in her hair.  "I could as easily ask if any of this bothers you.  I already know that you despise my magic."  His body tensed, slightly.  "All in all, I'd say we're pretty even, Fenris, and whatever joy we can find in one another's company is more than either of us have alone."

Kit pressed a soft kiss to his chest, and closing her eyes, let the exhaustion of the day catch up with her.  His body relaxed against hers after a time, breath slowing as he fell asleep.

As the fire burned to embers the man and woman slept, entwined in each other's arms, the rain stilling outside.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Which Fenris Does Not React Well to Change.
> 
> I think that a lot of Fenris' issues boil down to this.
> 
> Having no memories of his past, he clings to the roles that are thrust upon him. It's the only identity he has, really, poor guy.
> 
> I suspect that's where the attraction to the Qun lies for him- something permanent, unchanging and safe in a dangerous, unpredictable world.
> 
> He can accept being a slave and lover to a gentler, kinder Magister, but to be a free man? What does that mean? He doesn't know how to live in the free world, or how to be in a consensual relationship.
> 
> He's a pointier, pricklier version of Orana, really, and he just hides his insecurities and fear behind anger and sarcasm.
> 
> He's a black-and-white guy in a grey world, and I think it scares the piss out of him, deep down.

_Two days later:  21 Frumentum, ten days until the Challenge._

It had been a long, frustrating few days, the search through Danarius' papers regarding Fenris turning up only a few cryptic notes, mostly in regards to the process of marking him.  Other than a single offhand mention of a sister, they'd found nothing.  The duel was fast approaching, and tensions in the household growing with each passing day.

Kit set her teeth as they stood across from each other in her study.   _I can't believe we're arguing again._

"Fenris, you  _cannot_  be present at the duel.  In the first place, you can't do anything- I'd be banished and you summarily executed if you interfered in any way.  And-"

She swallowed before continuing- "If I lose, you will immediately be considered the property of Gaius Scipio.  I'd rather have you halfway across Thedas than in his possession.  To that end-" She picked up a bundle of papers.  "These are the forms neccessary to purchase freedom for Macer, Maro, Pavo, Vitula, Gavin, Tristram, Beatriz, Taysen, Pesha, and you.  I'm heading to the Great Hall tomorrow to submit them, and in a week, you'll all be free."

"No!"  The protest was wrenched from his throat, and Kit looked up in surprise as he advanced on her, anger in his every line.  "I-"  

Fenris stood, mute, in the grip of some emotion Kit couldn't put a name to.  

"Fenris," she said, softly, "I do not wish you to be a slave.  No matter what happens in the Challenge, I would rather see you face life as a free man than as someone's property."

He looked at her, a mix of rage and anguish in his eyes.  "You would see me gone from your service, then, Magister?"

Kit exhaled.  "I would see you  _free_ , Fenris, free to do as you please, not bound to me unwillingly.  At that point what you do is your choice, to seek out your family, or travel, or what-have-you."  

She paused, hoping that none of her mental turmoil showed on her face.   _I have so little to offer you, Fenris._   "I could...perhaps hire you?  As a bodyguard?"

He sneered at her, and Kit could see she'd hit the wrong chord immediately.  "I'll go from being your slave to your hireling, then?  What shall my official title be, Magister, bodyguard, or whore?"

Kit winced, mentally banging her head against an imaginary wall.   _Balls.  Fuck.  Fuckfuckfuck._

"I didn't mean to imply that, Fenris," she said, trying to keep a rein on her temper and frustration, tone measured.  "The point is that you will have the freedom to choose what to do, and if you wish to remain with me, then I will do what I can to fulfill that wish."

"You would  _hire_  me out of pity, then, so that I may trail behind you like an adoring dog?"  Fenris replied, eyes afire.

She threw up her hands then, temper coming out full-force, teeth gritted and eyes burning golden with anger.  "Fine.  Fine, you want to go?  Go follow that damn paper of Danarius', go find your sister, wherever she may be.  Go join a sodding circus, for all I care.  I will  _not_  be responsible for your life decisions, Fenris.  And regardless of your status, I will not have you at the duel.  These bastard Tevinters respect law only when it favors them, and I will not have Gaius Scipio appropriating you if I die."

She heard the doorframe splinter as he slammed the door behind him, the only sound of his departure.

Kit put her head in her hands, willing herself not to scream in frustration.

She turned back to her chair, trying desperately to calm her roiling thoughts, and it was a good hour before she could continue her meditation exercises.

********************************************************************************************************  
 _Three days later:  24 Frumentum, seven days until the Challenge._

Kit stood in the training yard, breath coming in spurts as Pavo, Vitula, Gavin, and Macer circled.

Maro and Tristram slumped to the side, thoroughly exhausted and slightly singed, already disqualified from the practice session.

Gavin moved in, suddenly, moving silently and expertly, practice dagger in hand as Macer charged in with a yell.

They felt the air move, then, as Kit loosed force magic on them, throwing them back, following up with a low-level ice spell that sapped all their strength.

Vitula gripped her club and shield more firmly, moving in to strike with a warcry that distracted Kit for a moment.  She parried the flurry of blows with her staff, the force of the other woman's attack driving her back-

 _Pavo_ \- Kit thought, whirling suddenly and throwing a blast of arcane force that dazed the blond elf, driving her to her knees.  Kit brought her staff down on the back of the neck of the kneeling elf, stopping just short of the killing blow.  "Kill!" she called out, backing up from Vitula's advance.

Gavin sprinted in, recovered, his speed forcing Kit to scurry back as she prepared another spell, and then, suddenly, his hand moved, as he flung-

Kit sputtered and coughed, the handful of dirt in her eyes distracting her just long enough for him to move in.  With incredible grace, he was behind her, drawing the wooden shiv across her throat in a macabre parody of death.  Kit slumped, obediently, nodding.

Gavin released her, then came around to the front, grinning.  

"Yes, yes, you win," she said, still wiping sand and grit from her eyes.  "I'll have to remember that one."  He tucked the practice blade under his arm, signing in a flurry that had Tristram smirking from across the courtyard.

"He says it's a good thing this is a duel between Magisters; he thinks milady needs more practice in hand-to-hand combat."

Kit nodded, taking the red-haired elf's hand as he hauled her up.  "You're quite right, Gavin, and normally I'd just practice throwing fireballs at things.  But Magister Scipio is well-known for some less-than-savory magic practices, and if he summons a horde of weapon-wielding skeletons, I'd prefer to be as prepared as possible."

Gavin nodded, grimly, releasing her hand, and for a moment Kit felt the tiniest of flutters in her belly.   _Maker, it's nice to see a handsome elf that isn't ready to tear my head off, for a change._

The redhead looked at her appraisingly for a moment, his ability to read her body language laying her bare before him.  He raised an eyebrow, then gave her a saucy grin.  "All right, all right," she said, grouchily.  "I can't help it.  You're very pretty, but I didn't mean it and you know it."

He gave her a sympathetic smile, then turned to wave at-

 _Oh, Maker, Fenris,_  Kit thought, a weight in her stomach plummeting at the sight of him glowering at her.  

At her side, Gavin signed something, quickly, then backed off, hands held up in surrender.  Fenris nodded, briefly, and the rest of the guards scrambled up to put away the practice weapons.

"Magister," he said, falling in behind her as she walked quickly toward the house, "I would-"

"Kit," she insisted, "Use my given name, please, Fenris."  She couldn't keep the irritation out of her tone.

 _You haven't spoken a handful of words to me in days, avoided me whenever possible, and now you want to act as though you've forgotten what's passed between us?  I think_ not.

"Kit," he gritted out, "I would speak with you regarding the duel."

"Oh, that's a pleasant change," Kit said, sarcasm in her voice, "considering that you've chosen to completely ignore me for nearly half a week.  Please, speak on."

Once in the house, she stalked towards the bath, wanting to rinse the sweat and grime of the day's practice off.


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris glared at her tone, but continued.

"Scipio will have guards and slaves hidden, to be bled at his signal.  Let Gavin and I, or some of the other guards come with you, to find and deal with them.  Such a thing can hardly be considered interference when Scipio himself is also involved."

Kit stepped inside the bathing suite, Fenris on her heels.  He closed the door behind them as she spoke:

"Fenris, a member of my household killing a member of his household would definitely be considered interference.  Besides, he could claim that I was trying to use blood magic, and that I'd killed his slaves to do so.  There are far too many ways for such a thing to turn on us, and you are far too recognizable to risk an appearance at the duel."

Fenris felt frustration building, and angrily, he snapped out, "You would grant me freedom, yet you persist in denying me the right to decide what I can and cannot risk."

Kit turned to him, undoing the sash to her robes, conflict in her eyes.  "This is not about you choosing to risk yourself, this is about what I am willing to risk."  

She looked away for a moment, jaw clenched in an effort to control her emotions.  "I have lost too much, Fenris, to lose you as well.  I will not see you endangered, regardless of how the duel plays out."

She looked at him, eyes pleading for understanding, and put a hand on one lyrium-lined forearm.  "I appreciate your desire to protect me, truly-"

He pulled away from her touch and turned away, anger in every line of his body.  "Don't flatter yourself, Magister- the dray animal cares little for who holds the reins as long as it gets a comfortable stall and a full belly at the end of the day."  

His voice cut Kit to ribbons- she was surprised that she wasn't bleeding.  

"'Better the demon you know than the demon you don't,' it is said, and after all, what slave could complain of such kind treatment at your hands?"

"Get out," Kit hissed, on the verge of tears.  She turned away from him and hunched in herself, sorrow pooling in her belly.   _Is this truly all that there is between us?_  she thought, miserably.

She heard nothing but silence, and did her best to muffle the sob that escaped her.

She heard the soft jingle of his baldric as he moved, and the sound of the door opening and closing heralded his exit.  Kit bit her lip, hard, holding back the tears, and opened the tap that began to fill the marble basin.  Only when the water was flowing, the sound echoing throughout the chamber, did she allow herself to keen, quietly, tears winding down her face.

********************************************************************************************************

 _That night..._

Kit looked at the slaves gathered nervously before her.  She took a deep breath and began.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here- as you know, I have a duel in several days with the head of the House of Scipio.  If I should fall, all of the holdings of this house are forfeit."

She turned to the table behind her, where nine packages stood, wrapped and ready.

"Although there are many slaves in this household, the nine of you have touched my life most deeply, and it is with thanks that I wish to present these gifts to you- sadly, it all I can afford to do at this time."

She picked up a package and turned, handing it to Beatriz.  "This is for you."

The elvhen woman looked at her nervously; Kit smiled reassuringly.  "Open it, please."

Beatriz set the package on a nearby table, carefully undoing the string and unwrapping the paper.  She unfolded the cloth to find several items, some coin, and a pair of shoes.

"Five sovereigns should be enough to help you find a place to live and a job, if you so desire.  You should also be able to afford passage on a ship if that's what you wish," Kit said, softly.  "May the shoes keep your feet dry and the cloak keep you warm, and those papers will tell one and all that you are a free woman."

Beatriz turned to her, dumbfounded, her large grey eyes dazed.  "Free?  My lady?"

Kit smiled.  "Your lady, no longer, Beatriz, unless you would like to serve in my household.  For such service I would be pleased to offer you lodging, meals, and a weekly wage."

The elvhen woman's large grey eyes filled, suddenly, and she turned back to the package.

Kit turned back to the table, handing out similar packages to Maro, Macer, Pavo, Vitula, Taysen, Pesha, Gavin, and Tristram.

Pesha looked at her, fear evident on his face.  "M-magister?  Where will I go?"

"Sweetheart," she said, and hugged him to her.  "I have papers here that will make Beatriz your guardian, if she is willing, but if I survive this duel know that you are always welcome with me."

"What about Fenris?" he said, muffled against her robes.

Kit closed her eyes for a moment.  "Fenris and I had an argument, sweetheart, so I'm waiting to give him his present until later."

Kit turned to the rest of them.  "You are all welcome to stay here for the next few days until the duel, but I would not suggest remaining here on the day of the duel.  In the event that I fall, Scipio's people are likely to descend quickly on this house, and I have no doubt that your papers would be quickly 'lost' and your service to his house commanded.  If I win the duel, you are all welcome to come back and stay for as long as it takes to find the situation of your choosing.  I regret to say that I have no intention of maintaining such a large staff, and will require at most the services of Beatriz and Pesha."

Gavin walked up to her and pulled her into a hug.  She hugged him back, then pulled away, smiling.  "Thank you, Gavin.  May the Maker watch over you."  He smiled back at her, wordlessly, and brushed a lock of her hair away from her face before stepping back to give her a courtly bow.

Kit walked over to Beatriz.  "Bea," she said, quietly.  "Will you look after Pesha if I am unable to do so?"

The elf turned to her and nodded, her face full of emotion.  "I never dreamed I'd be free, milady.  I'd be happy to remain in your service after the Challenge."

Kit smiled.  "Wonderful.  Please, call me Kit, then, and after the duel you and Pesha and I will set up a new household somewhere."

The former slaves were talking excitedly amongst themselves, Pavo already pulling on her stockings and tying on the new shoes while Taysen looked at his warm cloak with pleasure.

"If you'll all excuse me," Kit said quietly, "I'm going to retire for the night."  She bid the room good night and walked quickly to her chambers.  The former guards made no move to follow, and Kit savored the feeling of being alone for the first time in over a month.   _If only Fenris-_

She pushed that thought away, quickly, and upon reaching her small, comfortable room, undressed quickly and got into bed.

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris sat in the guard's quarters, staring angrily at the fire, his emotions tangled.   _She doesn't need me,_  he reminded himself.  He couldn't quite banish the image of Magister Scipio standing, victorious, over her corpse in the Ring of Challenge, the red of blood magic on his fingers.  He shook his head, quickly, to rid himself of the thought.   _She will win.  She must, or all of our efforts will have been in vain._

He looked up at Gavin and Tristram's noisy entrance.  They were both holding bundles in their hands, and there was an air of unbridled excitement about them that Fenris had never seen before.

"Fenris!"  Tristram crowed, setting his bundle carefully on his bunk before moving to sit in the chair opposite Fenris before the fire.  "We are free men, Fenris!"  The man stood once more, as if unable to sit for more than a minute, pacing around the room.  

"The magister kept her word, then?" Fenris asked, and Gavin shot him a sharp glance from across the room.

Tristram turned back to face him, his face flushed beneath his short-cropped ebon hair.  "Did she tell you she would free us?   _Hacedor_ , it's amazing!  I never imagined I'd be free again."

Tristram slipped slightly into his native Antivan, accent thickening slightly in his excitement.  "Of course the magister won't be keeping us on- little need has she of a house full of servants!"

Fenris' gut twisted.   _Of course she'd send us all away_.

"Oh, except for Beatriz and Pesha; she's agreed to hire them on in her new household.  And you, perhaps, too, you lucky bastard!"  Tristram stalked back over and gave the elf a light punch to the arm.  

"I have not been freed," Fenris said.  "And the magister herself told me that she hadn't funds enough to free everyone- the ostlers, the stableboys, the field slaves, chambermaids and the like."

Tristram waved that off.  "She told Pesha that she had yours to give to you-" he wiggled his eyebrows- " _privately_  since you'd quarrelled.  Better make up with her quickly,  _amigo_."  He struck a dramatic pose.  "Oh, to be hired to guard  _that_  body-"

Fenris growled, and Tristram subsided.  

Gavin walked over and leaned against the bunk frame, snapping his fingers to get the other men's attention.  Once he had it, he signed-

 _Are you all right, Fenris?  You have been nothing but angry for the past week.  Are you and the Magister so at odds, then?  I rather thought she liked you._

Fenris took a frustrated breath, looking over towards the fire.  "She refuses an escort to the Challenge.  She knows that Scipio will have slaves on reserve for the duel, and yet she refuses to bring someone along to remove such a threat."

Gavin stomped a foot and Fenris looked back at him.   _It's a magister's duel, my friend, and slaves-_  he shrugged-  _or former slaves have no place there._  

"And if she should die?"  Fenris said, the words ripped unwillingly from him.  "What should I do if she dies?"

Gavin looked somberly at him.  

 _Then you live, my friend._

********************************************************************************************************

 _Six days later:  30 Frumentum, the day before the Challenge._

Kit sat in the study, idly watching the rain as it slipped down the windowpane outside.  The book she was reading, some silly romance about a Rivaini pirate and his apostate lover sat ignored in her lap.  A glass of wine, half-drunk, sat at her elbow, and as Kit stared out at the rain she let her thoughts wander.

 _Life- like a glass of wine, but is it half-full, or half-empty?  In Ferelden, I would have said half-full.  Even moving around all the time, running from the templars, I had Mother, and Da, and Carver, and Bethany._   She stared at the rain, and a memory came, half-bidden-

 _It had been so cold that morning, all of the moisture turned to ice overnight.  She'd woken, shivering, next to Bethany, and they'd wandered out to the main room, together, to find Carver and Da already sitting at a low table, a blanket covering it in lieu of a tablecloth._   "Come sit down, nuglets," _Da had said, tossing each of them a warm blanket.  Kit had sat down and wrapped the other blanket around her shoulders, surprised suddenly at the warmth that emanated from under the table, trapped by the blanket-as-a-tablecloth._

 _She'd looked at Da, quizzically, and he'd grinned back at her._ "When I was little, back in the mountains in Rivain," _he'd said,_ "It used to get cold.  My ma had a little brazier she'd put under a table, and we'd all sit around, like this.  But mage-fire's a little safer than regular fire," _he'd grinned, pulling out a pack of well-worn cards from his side.  "Who wants to play_ 'Noble's Spinster Daughter?'" _Mother had brought everyone bowls of steaming porridge topped with sugar and cream, spiced with Da's favorite_ cassia _, and after sitting down they'd whiled away the cold day together, playing games or practicing their letters.  She'd braided Beth's hair that day, twining it with ribbon-_

Kit took a deep breath to ease the ache in her chest.   _Maker, I hope you're all together, somewhere._   She picked up the wineglass and drained it, then set the glass back down.   _Empty.  No halves about it._

She picked at the anger inside of her, the frustration, the loneliness.  And it was  _his_  fault, Maker take him.  She'd set the package, the warm, dark cloak and all of its contents tied with a string, on the low table where he kept his armor at night.  He'd come to bed, silent and angry, as far from her on the bed as he could possibly get.  

She'd stayed still and feigned sleep those few times when she'd woken to find him behind her, his arm draped possessively around her middle, his body warm and firm against her back.  But he was always awake and silent by morning, the package remaining untouched for nearly a week.  They'd not spoken in that time, and he'd taken to guarding the doorway of whatever room she was in, as if he couldn't bear to be in the room with her.

His words burned into her mind-  _Better the demon you know,_  and she snarled.  So she was just another magister, another owner of slaves, another Tevinter mage despite all that she'd done to try and prove otherwise?

********************************************************************************************************

Kit stood, suddenly, and with a few strides was out of the study and in the hall.  Fenris looked at her briefly, but she ignored him and walked down the hall to their room, angrily.  Upon entering the room, she picked up the package from the low table.  Fenris had followed her into the room and now watched, silently, and she came towards him.  "Take it, damn you," she hissed at him, forcing the package into his hands.   She pulled him to her, then, and kissed him, desperate and angry and wanting.  He'd frozen in her arms at the touch of her lips, and as she pulled away from him she was pleased to see anger, confusion, and desire warring within him.

She picked up her imbued robe and staff, and as she turned to leave the room, she said, "I'm going to stay in the Challenger's Quarters until tomorrow.  Maker keep you, Fenris."

He stilled in shock, not quite believing that she was going.  Of course, all duelists had the right to stay in the Challenge's rooms until their duel- however, once they entered they couldn't leave again until the Challenge was over.   _Not now-_  he thought,  _Not now.  It's too soon.  If you die this is the last time I'll see you-_  He set the package down and began to walk after her.  "Magister-" he said, voice rough with panic.  She set her shoulders and continued down the hallway towards the door.  "Kit," he said, desperately, feet moving from a walk into a sprint to catch up with her.  She had her cloak on, now, and he spun her to face him, roughly.  "Don't go," he said, voice in a near whisper.

She looked up at him from the hood of her cloak, a tear spilling down her cheek.  She reached out with one hand and cupped his jaw, thumb stroking his face softly.  "Goodbye, Fenris," she said softly, then releasing him, picked up the folded robe and staff.  He watched her walk out the door; he wanted to chase her, pick her up and haul her forcibly back into the house.  He wanted to take her with him to the docks, duel be damned, and charter passage for both of them to somewhere, anywhere.  He'd be her servant, her slave, if only she'd keep him with her, forever-

Some part of him recoiled in utter self-loathing at the thought, and hearing a laugh behind him he whirled.

Pavo stood behind him, dressed in cloak and shoes, smirking at his expression.  "Does the little love-slave miss his Magister so soon?" she cooed, eyes raking up and down his form.  "What lovely puppy-eyes you make, Fenris.  Are you the Magister's whore now?"

She stepped back as he advanced, hands clenched into fists at his side.  "Well, at least you'll be making coin for it now, hm?  While the rest of us sell our swords across Thedas you'll be selling your body to any Magister who'll take you, I suppose.  Let's hope this one doesn't tire of you too soon."  She flounced past him and out the door as Gavin, Tristram, Maro, Macer, and Vitula filtered into the entryway.

Tristram raised an eyebrow, clearly catching his mood, while Maro, Macer and Vitula all followed Pavo outside the door.  Gavin stood next to Tristram, eyes on Fenris.

"Don't let Pavo get to you, Fenris- you know she's a jealous bitch," Tristram said, and Fenris bit back his anger and nodded.

"Where are you going?" Fenris asked, noting the shoes and cloaks that they were wearing.  Gavin signed to him-

 _The Magister told us to leave before the duel, in case she falls.  There is a man by the docks who's hiring mercenaries to fight the Darkspawn in Ferelden, in the name of their young King Cailan.  The ship leaves tomorrow- we're going to see if they'll hire us._

Fenris nodded, coming to a sudden decision.  "Wait," he said, and walked to the bedroom he shared with Kit, quickly opening the package that she'd given him.  It contained a warm, soft woolen cloak, in black, a pair of woolen stockings and boots, a set of officious-looking papers, a pouch of coin, and several... books?   _Why would she give me books?_   Fenris picked up one book, flipping through it curiously- it seemed to have quite a lot of pictures, unlike the volumes filled with cramped writing he'd seen in her study.  

He looked around the room until his eyes lit on a small, beaten satchel not currently in use- he grabbed it and stuffed the books, coin, and papers into it.  He pulled on the stockings and boots, the strange feel of covered feet and restrictive shoes bringing a grimace to his face, then pulled the cloak on, fumbling with the fastenings.  

Fenris looked around, one last time, and saw her red robe, the one she'd worn the night of the ritual, crumpled on the floor.  He walked over to it and picked it up, seeing the familiar crest of her house embroidered on the hem.  Not quite knowing why, he tore it, ripping a long strip of cloth from the hem, and tied it quickly around the wrist of his gauntlet.

He picked up the satchel and walked quickly back out to where Gavin and Tristram were waiting.  Gavin's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline to see Fenris in shoes and a cloak, and he signed, 

 _Aren't you staying with the Magister?_

"She doesn't need me," Fenris said, something inside him breaking a little at the admission, "And I'm no longer her slave."

Tristram started to say something, but Fenris rounded on him, anger in his face, and said, "Isn't this what it means to be free?  What free man in his right mind would stay here, in the possession of a Magister?"

 _She isn't exactly like the other Magisters,_  Gavin signed back.   _And she seemed quite fond of you-_

"Danarius seemed quite fond of you until he cut out your tongue," Fenris said.  

Gavin's hands stilled, and face hardening, he pulled up the cowl of his cloak.

Tristram looked from one to the other and sighed.  "Right then, let's be off."

The seven former slaves walked out into the rain, turning right on the path that lead to the docks of Minrathous.  

The one lone figure on horseback, headed to the center of the city and the Ring of Challenge, did not see them leave.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU Malcolm is from Rivain- "Kit" and "Malcolm" are simply the nicknames that were easy and familiar to pronounce for all the Marchers and Fereldan folk. As firstborn Kit got a Rivaini name that no doubt matches up to some relative on Mal's side.

Kit arrived at the complex that housed the Ring of Challenge an hour later.  The tall, forbidding building was flanked on either side by two pair of bronze statues, each kneeling, bronzed slave posed in supplication to the triumphant figures with staves.  Kit shuddered involuntarily at the skillfully molded expressions of fierce victory on the faces of the mage-figures.  

 _Victory- but at what cost?_

Her eyes drifted to the fearful poses of the slave-figures, and her expression darkened.   _I know Da wanted to protect us, but I don't think he truly understood Tevinter's ruthless culture.  Mages here trade the oversight of the templars for the constant competition and threat of assassination by other mages._

She pulled the horse up before the guards that stood at the gate, faces expressionless and spears at the ready.  She dismounted and pulled the hood of her cloak back, adjusting the pack on her back that held the few belongings she'd brought and untying her staff from its bindings on the saddle.

"I am Katinka Ysbael of the House of Hawke, answering the challenge of the House of Scipio," she said, formally, feeling a sense of  _deja vu_.  Not two months ago she'd intoned nearly the same phrase before entering these grounds to challenge Danarius.

The guards pulled their spears aside, and Kit held out her hand,  _focusing_ -

The bronze doors, nearly the height of three men, groaned on their heavy hinges as they opened before her.  The bone-white paving-stones gleamed in the torchlight, and as she led her horse inside she  _pulled_  with a crook of her finger.

As the doors closed behind her, Kit drew a deep breath.   _This is it._

********************************************************************************************************

After releasing her horse into the hands of one of the Challenge's many mute slaves, Kit made her way to the quarters reserved for her.  Several more guards fell in behind her, and Kit nodded briefly to them before turning her attention to navigating the labyrinthine tunnels of the Challenge complex.  She'd been surprised the first time at the presence of guards, but as with the rest of the slaves here they'd all had their tongues removed, remaining mute in the face of her curious queries.

She'd concluded they were as much protection as jailors- no one left the grounds of the Challenge once they'd entered, except through victory or death.  No doubt some in the distant past had managed to assassinate their opponents in their quarters, but it was clear that sometime in the past few Ages a ceremonial guard had been instituted and windowless quarters designed to foil such attempts.  She opened the thick oaken door to the small, plain chamber, and nodding to the guards, closed it behind her.

The cold stone room held a bed, a table, a single chair, a pitcher, basin, and towel, and a chamberpot.  It was utterly devoid of decoration of any kind.  Kit set her pack on the bed and leaned her staff against the wall.  She opened her pack, pulling out the few items she'd brought with, one by one.

Her battle-robes took up most of the pack.  She smoothed a hand over the thick padding and worn embroidery, the scarlet hue faded with repeated washings over the years.  She felt the power seated within the robes, the emanation of magic woven and amplified tenfold.  Kit prayed it would be enough.  She folded the robes carefully, more to have something to do with her hands than anything else, laying them carefully on the table along with her thin under-robe and spare set of smalls..

Next came her comb, a small bar of soap, and the cloth and container of salt with which she cleaned her teeth.  Setting these to the side of her clothes, she stilled over the pack.  Finally she reached in and pulled out a familiar silver collar and matching bracelets, and rubbing a thumb over the engraving, she placed them carefully on the robes.   _Let the Tevinters make of that what they will._   

Sitting on the bed, she ran through the familiar breathing and meditation exercises, stopping only to accept the simple meal that was brought to her.  When she had finished eating, she ran through the forms of magic in her mind.  Elemental, Force, and Arcane were her strongest schools, but she ran through what she knew of Primal, Spirit, Creation and Energy until the muffled sound of the midnight bell reached her.

She lay on the bed and closed her eyes, exhaustion claiming her.  Tomorrow, at midday, all would be decided.

********************************************************************************************************

 _Meanwhile, at Minrathous' docks..._

The group of seven made their way to the group of people milling around the docks, centered on the dripping flag whipping around in the wind, the two  _mabari_  rampant on a shield unmistakeably Ferelden.

Fenris stood in the rain, cloak soaking wet, his mood as dark as the clouds in the rapidly darkening sky.  He watched the crowd, the sky, the ships in the harbor; anything to occupy his mind other than-

He forced himself to focus on the men murdering Arcanum in front of them as the group thinned.  "In the name of King Cailan, be ye well-come," one said loudly, voice hoarse from repeating the same speech all day.  "Animals of the dark gather and his Majesty requires men for to fight them.  Have ye papers and be willing, ye shall have monthly coin, bed, board, and opportunity.  Ye must sign for a year's time."

The crowd shifted, most of the docksides' visitors curious or openly scornful of the dog-lords.  A pair of Tevinter guards stood next to the table, examining the papers of the few souls who were preparing to board the ship.

Tristram stepped to the front.  "We are seven, freed, and we wish to serve your Ferelden King."  The other man eyed their group with interest, noting with interest the plain and obviously well-used weapons that each of them wore.  He began questioning Tristram, and Fenris watched as the warrior produced his papers for inspection.  

Gavin stepped up next, producing his papers.  At the man's awkward queries in Arcanum, he shook his head.  Tristram stepped back.  "Gavin cannot speak, but he understands just fine, and a better warrior you'll be hard-pressed to find."  The guard eyed the elf skeptically.  "A mute, eh?"

Gavin pulled his dagger from his belt in a single swift movement, throwing it unerringly into a thin wooden post three man-lengths to the side, gaze never leaving the Ferelden.

The man's eyebrows raised fractionally, and he nodded.  "Aye, I suppose ye need not words to kill the dark-animals, eh?"  Gavin walked quickly over to retrieve his dagger, and taking the quill offered he quickly made his mark on the contract offered.

Pavo, Macer, Maro, and Vitula quickly followed suit, their papers checked thoroughly by the Tevinter guards.  Fenris stepped up to the man, holding out his papers.  "I knew not the Dalish be in Tevinter," the man said, eyeing Fenris' markings.

"They're not," Fenris said shortly.  "Name?"  The man asked.  "Fenris," he replied tersely.  "Weapon?" the man continued.  "Sword or maul," Fenris replied, flexing his articulated gauntlets.   The man eyed the custom armor, the hilt of the sword at the elf's back, and the dark expression on his face, and nodded.  "Here, your mark make," he said, pointing to a single line at the bottom of the parchment.  "20 silver a week," he said, "plus bed, board and healing."

Fenris nodded, and removing a gauntlet, took the unfamiliar quill awkwardly in hand and scratched an X in the indicated area.  "Be well-come to the King's service," the man said, gesturing to the ship.  "At dawn we sail."

Fenris nodded, and putting his gauntlet back on and gathering his papers from the Tevinter guards, he followed Gavin up the gangplank, aboard the large, sturdily-built ship.

Once in the dimly lit hold, he found an unclaimed hammock along the wall.  He hung his dripping cloak up on the peg next to the hammock, stowed his pack in a small cubby seemingly built for the purpose, and removed the uncomfortable shoes and stockings.

 _It is done,_  he thought, and resolutely turned his mind away from Minrathous.


	15. Chapter 15

Kit woke at the officious knock on the door, and pulling herself groggily out of a deep, dreamless sleep, walked to the door and opened the door long enough to acknowledge the slave that waited outside.  In the tradition of the Challenge, she now had one hour to prepare for the duel.  She poured water from the ewer into the basin and gave herself a quick scrub, waking more thoroughly at the feel of the cool water on her skin.  

A second knock at the door, scarcely ten minutes later heralded the arrival of a plain breakfast of diluted wine, a lightly spiced porridge in almond milk, and a sliced apple.  Kit ate slowly, savoring the crunch of the apple, the spices of the porridge.   _I only hope this meal isn't my last,_  she thought briefly, and at last stood to dress for the duel.  

First came her smalls, plain, unbleached cotton, then her thin black under-robes.  Next she pulled on her simply knit stockings and thick leather boots.  She then lifted her worn blue battle-robes, shivering slightly as the power-laden cloth slid over her body.  Kit slipped her arms through the thick, patched sleeves, the padded cloth lined in leather a heavy, comforting weight against her body.  Next came the plain blue surcoat with its leather side-panels, which she slipped over her head, buckling it in place on either side.  Finally, she cinched on her embroidered leather belt, the tiny bit of enchantment of the tooled runes bolstering her control of the Fade.  She turned to the small table, and picking up the silver bracelets, snapped them on over the gathered sleeves of her robes.  Kit ran a finger along the engravings of the collar- it was ironic that Fenris had been given jewelry decorated with a repeating motif of hawks.   _More like the slave owns the Hawke than the other way around,_  she thought.  He'd been so angry at her for forcing freedom on him.

 _I'll make it up to you when I come home, Fenris,_  she thought, banishing the  _if I come home_  at the back of her mind.   _You don't understand now, but I want you to stay with me because you want to, not because you must.  You don't have to be my hireling or my slave- just be an ally, a friend, a lover._   

She lifted the collar up and snapped it into place around her neck, and felt comforted in some small way.  The knock came at her door, suddenly, and she pulled on her tooled leather gloves, grabbing her staff as she answered the door.  The slave that stood on the other side of the door gestured, and as Kit stepped through the doorway she heard the midday bells begin.

It was time.

********************************************************************************************************  
 _Earlier that morning:_

Fenris awoke from a restless sleep, the sounds of the other mercenaries in the hold and the swaying of the canvas hammock keeping him from a deeper rest.  He sat up, awkwardly holding onto the ropes at the end of the hammock, placing his bare feet on the worn wooden planks.  He looked around and was surprised to see a qunari with a thick needle and thread sitting on the floor across from him, sewing two hammocks together deftly.  The qunari looked up at Fenris' movement and acknowledged him with a clipped " _Basra_."

"Basra?" Fenris repeated, although it was clear by the qunari's tone that the word was less than complimentary.

The qunari ignored him for a moment before answering, briefly, "A being without purpose."

Fenris raised an eyebrow, then shielded his gaze as the first ray of sunlight shone through a murky porthole.  He grabbed for the hammock as the boat swayed under his feet, the faint shouts of the sailors indicating their departure.

As the momentary glare faded, Fenris turned to look out the porthole as Minrathous began to recede from view.  He felt an odd mixture of fear, excitement, joy, and grief, but steeled his features into impassivity.  He absently ran finger and thumb over the red cloth tied around his wrist.

 _Goodbye, Hawke._

********************************************************************************************************

Kit followed the slave down the torchlit hall, the few doors on either side for storage or access to the other levels of the complex.  It was actually a fairly simple building, containing only quarters for the mages, a kitchen, quarters for the slaves and guards, a stable, and the arena of the Ring itself.  As the midday bells of Minrathous rang, Kit walked down that all-too-familiar corridor until they reached the bronzed double-doors that led to the Ring of Challenge.

The doors were opened before her, with great ceremony, and as Kit stepped onto the dark, volcanic stone that surrounded the ringed area, she saw him.  They'd met, twice, at what passed for social events in Tevinter, a gathering of Magisters come to trade secrets, forge alliances, marry off eligible sons and daughters or plot each other's downfall.  He'd barely deigned to notice the relatively minor House of Hawke, and as a gawky young woman only barely come into adulthood she'd stared at the wealthy, powerful, comely son who was the pride of his House.

He was as handsome as she remembered, this scion of the House of Scipio, dark, unruly hair to his shoulders, eyes so darkly brown they were almost black, high cheekbones covered with the stubble he wore as an affectation.  He was tall and thin- no warrior's body lay underneath those tightly-fitted robes of deepest red, the cloth cut to his advantage, the token leather panels for beauty rather than protection.  But what need had a Magister of sheer physical power?

The power that surrounded him pulsed with every heartbeat- he made no effort to hide the extent of his control of the Fade, and Kit could  _feel_  it swirling around him, answering to his call, moving as he directed, as if he were the vortex of his own perfect storm of the Fade.

He held a simple black staff in his hand, the base of which held an angry red crystalline globe.  The staff was topped with a sharp and unnaturally bright blade, and the waves of power that rolled off the object nearly made Kit nauseous.  It was clear that this instrument was Scipio's preferred weapon, and one that had been used time without count to siphon off the lives of countless slaves.

The magisters of Minrathous sat above the ring, the arena itself surrounded by high stone walls that jutted upward nearly six man-lengths.  Above that, high enough to be deemed "safe," were the alcoves and seats reserved for each major House.  They were filled to brimming today; attendance had been sparse when Kit had dueled Danarius, being that the House of Hawke had been relatively minor and unknown, and Danarius' power on the wane with the turn of his fortunes, his advancing age, and lack of an heir.  But today, with the young and powerful son of Scipio in the ring, every House in Minrathous was in full attendance, their colors flying in banners draped from the railings of their boxes.  Kit looked up at the box of the house of Scipio, catching a flurry of movement in the shadows of the darkened box.  He had men, and slaves there, she had no doubt.

As the midday bells faded into silence, the Archon's representative, the Arbiter Magus, stood from his ceremonial throne and began to read from his parchment.

"On this, the first day of Umbralis, we, the protectors of the people, we who wield magic in service of Thedas, have gathered to witness a Challenge this day between the House of Hawke and the House of Scipio."

He paused for effect, and giving time for the idle chatter of the gathered Magisters to fade into silence.  

"One month prior, the Challenge was issued by the House of Scipio according to all established rules, and it is heretofore witnessed today that both parties have answered the Challenge.  On this sacred ground let the Challenge be answered, and to the victor of this Challenge all property of the defeated shall be forfeit."

He paused once more, before repeated the creed of the Imperium in a ringing voice.

"From Power, Truth."

The voices of the gathered Magisters rang out in ceremonial response, repeating the creed:

" _Ex Imperiis, Veritas_."

The voice of the Arbiter rang out:

"Let the Challenge begin!"

********************************************************************************************************

Scipio grinned at her before stepping almost delicately into the large pit of white sand that made up the true ring of the Arena.  "I've been looking forward to this," he said, conversationally, "Ever since your little tête-à-tête with Danarius Lucceius reminded me of a few choice possessions the old man had."

Kit bared her teeth at him, and, after stepping into the ring, with a gesture and a word bent her control of the Fade into an Arcane Shield.  As the shimmer surrounded her, he smiled condescendingly.

"So it is true, then, that the little Hawke shuns the shedding of blood to further her magic.  Such a shame, truly," he continued, and with a smile he pulled the head of his staff down, lazily making a small cut on his palm.

Kit's eyes widened.  Even Danarius had made some attempt to mask his use of blood magic, but this Scipio was so confident of his power and political reach that he made no such pretense.  

She felt a surge as the power of his blood keyed into the swirling vortex of Fade power around him, and the discarded, whitened bones of challengers past ringing the pale sands of the Arena began to stir.  He began to gesture, focusing his will and power, and the bones began to assemble themselves before her eyes, ghastly puppets pulled from the grave, held together by power and blood and will.

Kit ignored the skeletons for the moment, and with a gesture and a pull from the power within created a prison of telekinetic force around Scipio.  As she collapsed the prison, she felt him pull once more from that vortex of power, and with a growled word and an outstretched palm, he broke the walls of force.

The skeletons began to advance, discarded, rotting staves in their hands once again.  Kit turned her attention to the eight corpses moving quickly across the sands, and with her staff an extension of her body, drew the sigil to dispel magics in the air, focusing the circle of effect around the walking corpses.

Scipio laughed.  "Oh, I think not, little Hawke," he said, and with a slight grunt of effort he quickly cast his own glyph of dispelling force.  The two magics met and canceled each other in a show of otherworldly flame that would have impressed any crowd at a country Faire.

The skeletons were nearly on her now, and moving as gracefully as a dancer she twisted her body, her staff, until the requisite patterns were met- it was like a key of the Fade slipping into a lock, clicking open as the overlay of the shadow world recognized and bowed to her intent.

The blast of telekinetic power moved out instantaneously from her, and the fragile skeletons were no match for the percussive force.  They fell, some of the oldest cracking and crumbling beyond use.

Kit was sweating now, and as she felt a familiar manipulation of the Fade she had just enough time to key into the elemental plane, an immediate chill crackling in the area around her-

And then the firestorm began, Scipio's staff and hands calling down the flames on her, around her, scorchingly hot, only just offset by the winter's chill she'd managed to summon in defense.  Her Arcane Shield began to shatter before the onslaught of flame, and reacting quickly, Kit pulled a fist of force down onto Scipio.

He staggered under the force blow, and as his lips twisted into a snarl, eyes glowing red, she knew the true battle was only now beginning.

********************************************************************************************************

He pulled the skeletons back up with an impatient growl, wincing slightly and favoring an arm.   _Hope I broke some ribs along with that arm, you Void-damned bastard,_  she thought, then stumbled back as he threw a cloud of entropic magic across the arena.

 _Oh, fuck,_  she thought, before the magic closed over her, and suddenly she felt an overwhelming urge to  _flee, run, before it's too late, oh, Maker, the pain-_   She felt a blade of pure magic force itself past her shields, and turned just in time to feel it sink into her shoulder, cutting to the bone.  The entropic force amplified the agony, and as she sunk to her knees she felt the world dimming slightly.   _Sleep,_  the magic crooned,  _sleep and this will all be over._   She looked muzzily around, everything out of focus as confusion set in.

 _Where-_  She could feel the pain, feel the grit of the sand, the familiar warmth of the silver collar and bracelets-

 _Fenris._   He flashed before her in her mind's eye, those emerald eyes and black brows drawn together in a scowl, lines of lyrium snaking down his neck.   _If I die here, I'll never see him again-_

With a cry she struggled to her feet, summoning the raw power of Creation magic and twisting it into a protective aura.  The effects of the entropic cloud faded away, and riding the wave of that power of Creation she drove her staff into the sands, laying a glyph of repulsion at her feet just in time to fend off the skeletons that reached for her.  She quickly threw two spirit bolts in succession, watching with satisfaction as Scipio reeled before the double blow to his chest.

He threw a quick glance to the balcony of his House, and then, suddenly, Kit felt a glut of power and knew with certainty that at least two slaves had just met violent ends.

He pulled on that power, and surrounded by the thick, pulsing red glow, mended the wounds to his body.  He smiled again, such a charming smile on such a handsome face masking the sheer evil of his magic, and with an outstretched hand he  _threw_  that power at her-

Kit felt the blood magic hook into her like a thousand tiny needles, and she cried out as he all but tore her will from her.  

 _"Come here, my little Hawke,"_  he hissed, and as she struggled her legs betrayed her, the grotesque puppetry of the darkest school of magic pulling her inexorably towards him.

 _"Maleficar!"_  she screamed, before, with a crook of his finger, her voice was abruptly silenced, and it took nearly all of her will simply to keep him from crushing her throat then and there.

As she tottered towards him on legs not her own, that sick smile grew.  "And what of it, little Hawke," he panted, the effort of controlling her as their wills fought draining what remained of his vortex of power.  "This is Tevinter, not your disgusting Ferelden backwater, and in the Imperium, those with power decide what is right."  He dropped her on her knees before him.  " _Ex Imperiis, Veritas_ , little Ferelden bitch," he continued, "and in this arena, I decide the truth."

He threw a lance of power at her, and then another, cutting her, taking pleasure in the long cuts along her face, her arms, the agony that was her shoulder.

"And that lovely little Leto with the magister's ransom worth of lyrium," he licked his lips, "Oh, yes, he shall be the prize of my collection.  Do you know, I had him, before Danarius ruined all that lovely skin with those markings- I had forgotten all about him until you won him from the old man.  He cried so beautifully when I took him-"

Kit struggled, fought, like a bird trapped in a net.  She'd used the reservoir of power in her robes- but if she could just reach the waiting power in her staff-

 _There._   In one movement, she touched the power in the staff, and breaking the spidery red lines that bound her, grabbed a handful of sand from the Arena, surged up and threw it with all of her force in Scipio's face.  He fell back, sputtering, rubbing furiously at his eyes and mouth-

 _Weren't expecting that, you arrogant bastard-_  she thought as she drew her dagger, and flinging herself on him, drew the dagger across his throat, feeling the hot gush of his life's blood as he gurgled in utter shock, head nearly severed before the force of her rage and fear.

The gathered Houses in the Arena rose up as one, shouts rising to an incandescent pitch of shock as Kit rolled off the nearly dead body of the scion of Scipio.  She was covered in his blood, felt it on her face, soaking her robes, and as she rose to her knees, dagger in both hands, she snarled, once, before sinking it to the hilt in his black heart.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My interpretation of Imperial society is that there are Magisters, who are like nobility with magical power, their hired servants and the middle class, merchants, etc., who serve for wages or own shops, and so on, the lower class/poor, and slaves. I assume that in addition to its complement of slaves each household would retain middle-class hirelings such as a steward. This resolves Fenris’ comments that slaves are not taught to read or write with the fact that such households would collapse without someone to keep the accounts. Just in case it’s not clear, that’s why my OC here has a family- he’s not a slave, but a hired accountant/manager of property.

Kit panted in exhaustion and pain, the voices in the Arena echoing off the walls as the assembled power of the city of Minrathous reeled at the sudden shock to its power structure. One of the most powerful blood mages in all of Tevinter had fallen to a relative unknown, all the power and wealth of the House of Scipio suddenly in the hands of a foreign born dog-mage.

She looked up to see the Arbiter Magus re-enter the ring, his wrinkled face pale with shock. Kit struggled to her feet, fighting to get away from the vile corpse of Scipio, leaning against a stone wall as wave after wave of pain ran through her.

He shouted fruitlessly for order, but it was a full ten minutes before the voices subsided enough for him to be heard.

"To all those assembled here, let it hereforth be witnessed that the House of Hawke did defeat the House of Scipio. The Challenge has been answered. _Ad victorem spolias_!"

Kit struggled to her feet- she had to walk out of the chamber under her own power, for if both magisters perished in a duel, all property reverted to the Archon. She nodded wearily to the Arbiter, and gritting her teeth, summoned the last dregs of her energy. Once she was out of the chamber, three mute slaves ran to her side- she sagged into their careful support, one of them holding a vial of lyrium.

"Thank the Maker," she muttered, and drank the potion down in three gulps. As the lyrium surged through her, bolstering her control of the Fade, she summoned a bout of Creation magic, closing her eyes to concentrate. Feeling with ghostly fingers, she mentally probed the damage to her shoulder- the muscle, there- ah, a hairline break in her collarbone. She stopped the bleeding, forcing the tissues to heal at hundreds, thousands of times the normal rate, wincing and moaning a little as bones knit, flesh grew together. She reached up with a shaking hand to pull away the torn edges of her robe from the wound, forcing more energy-

There. It wasn't pretty, and she'd bear the scar for life, but better a scar on her shoulder than the alternative. _If only I had Bethany's control of Creation magic,_ she thought, briefly, swaying. She had just enough control to close the slashes on her arms and face- luckily they were shallow cuts that resolved into smooth flesh with very little difficulty.

Kit exhaled and slumped. She'd be sore and exhausted for days, but it was enough. "Help me to my chamber," she said, and the slaves all but carried her back. A bath awaited her, and without further ado the slaves stripped her and bathed her gently. She couldn't find it in her to protest, and once she was clean they helped her from the tub, dressing her in the simple robes she'd worn the previous day. "Go," she said, thick-tongued, and lay down upon the bed. Moments later she was unconscious.

******************************************************************************************

A knock came on the door, and Kit woke, bleary-eyed. "Come," she said, and several slaves brought in a tray of food, followed by a nervous, officious- looking fellow. He bowed low before her. "Lady Hawke," he said, "I am Asellio Atius, steward of the property formerly in the care of the House of Scipio. We await your command."

Kit nodded. "Well-met, Atius," she said, "Be seated." The man sat gingerly on a chair, and turning to the tray, she began to eat- after expending so much energy, she was _ravenous._

Chewing and swallowing quickly, she said, between bites, "You know I am from Ferelden," she said, and the man nodded. "Indeed, my lady, 'tis a topic of much interest."

Kit sighed. She'd never planned on this, had never wanted power or wealth or political advantage, and yet she suddenly found herself with an abundance of all three. "Maker," she muttered under her breath.

Taking another bite, she swallowed quickly and took a drink. First things first. "How many slaves does the House of Scipio keep?" she asked, and watched the steward blink. "I am uncertain of the exact number, my lady-"

"Estimate," she ordered, and he swallowed.

He thought for a moment. "The property you acquired includes grounds in Minrathous," he said, "along with houses in Vyrantium, Carastes, a mountain retreat in Marothius, and our trade interests require lodging along the Imperial Highway in Perivantium. Each of these properties is fully staffed with a complement of twenty to thirty slaves. The grounds here in Minrathous house the former Magister's full staff, nearing eighty, and also his breeding stock, fighting stock, and-" the steward's eyes slid to the side- "stock held for research into further arcane arts. I would estimate their current numbers at two hundred."

"So upwards of three-hundred fifty slaves," she confirmed.

"Indeed, my lady," he nodded.

"Sell the houses," she ordered, and watched the steward's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "Use the proceeds to supply the slaves with clothing and coin, and procure their freedom. If the sale of the property will not cover the costs, I assume the coffers will support such an expense."

"But the grounds in Minrathous-" he sputtered-

"Are no doubt large, pretentious, and far too expensive for my tastes. Besides-" her eyes darkened, "I have no other family, and my own needs are simple."

She could see the panic in his eyes, his familiar empire being stripped to nothing before his eyes. "Atius," she said, and his eyes snapped to hers. "Have you a family, Atius?"

Heat rose in his cheeks. "Indeed, my lady," he stammered, "I am blessed with a fine wife and four children."

Kit nodded. "I try to be a fair woman, Atius," she said, "and as a Ferelden born and bred, the practice of keeping slaves is abhorrent to me. I would see them freed and settled into situations as servants or shopkeepers when possible. As a man who values his own wife and children, I ask that you would consider all of the slaves of the House of Scipio as if they were your children as well. Do this for me and I shall ensure that you are rewarded. If there is some property I could settle on you and your family?"

The man's mouth had fallen open. "I could not dream of such a thing," he stammered.

"Nonsense," Kit responded. "The task I ask of you is a long and difficult one, and I would also see the remaining slaves in my current situation dealt with in a similar fashion. Name your price, Atius, and I shall meet it, in return for your oath that you will execute this task with integrity."

He licked his lips. "I hail originally from Perivantium," he offered, "and the house there is simple and well-situated for a man of trade."

Kit nodded. "It is yours, along with enough capital to set you up in trade, if you agree to see to the disposition of the Scipio estates. I would wish to peruse the library and any artefacts of great power the household may have acquired, but other than that, I would see all else sold, and the remaining coin returned to me. I would also see the Luccieus estate sold, once I have located other lodgings to my satisfaction. Are we agreed?"

Atius inclined his head. "I am your servant, my lady. It shall be as you wish."

Kit held out her hand, and he shook it uncertainly. "So be it. Draw up the contracts for your own recompense, contingent upon the successful disposal of all other property, and I shall sign them at the earliest convenience. In the meantime, we will conduct all further business at the Lucceius mansion until further notice."

Atius rose and bowed. "I shall begin the disposition of property at once. _Valei_ , my lady," he said, and left.

Kit sighed and finished eating. _Well that's dealt with. At least now I can return home, and... do what?_ She'd never planned a life beyond defeating Danarius, had been so focused on avenging her family that the question of what to do afterward had simply not factored in. In her darker moments, she'd simply wished to have it all end, to join her family at the Maker's side or in oblivion, but now-

Now she had Beatriz, and Pesha, and Fenris.

Kit bit her lip. They'd quarrelled before the duel- he'd been so angry with her, but it was over, now, and surely he'd forgive her, understand that she simply wanted to give him freedom, safety, the choice to be at her side instead of the shackles that had held him to her.

With that, she rose, and smoothing out her wrinkled robe, began to pack her things. With any luck, she'd be back at the estate within the hour.

******************************************************************************************

Kit stared at the elf in incomprehension. "They left?"

"Yes, my lady," Beatriz said, wringing her hands. "There were men at the docks, hiring mercenaries to fight for the Ferelden king-"

Something in her twisted. _No. Surely he hadn't left her like this._ "All of them?" She paused. Void take it, the elf knew- "Fenris?"

Beatriz bit her lip. "He went with them, my lady- he was wearing cloak and boots, and carried a satchel-"

Kit drew in a breath, fighting the ache building. He had _left_ her. She had given him his freedom, given him the choice, and he had taken it. _I was a fool to think it mattered._ "I see," she managed. "The steward of Scipio will be by to discuss the disposition of the estate tomorrow- please-" She faltered, unable to continue.

He had _left_ her.

"Thank you, Beatriz," she whispered, and the elf bowed, closing the study door quietly behind her.

Kit looked around, eyes hot, chest tight, as she surveyed the other side of the room that'd been his.

She sat, and looked out of the window, willing herself not to cry. He had been a slave, a foe, a friend, and now he was gone, and that was all. It didn't matter. They'd been forced together by circumstance, and she'd done the right thing, hadn't she?

She crossed the room in five strides, taking up a sword he'd repaired, replacing the handle, the weight heavy in her hand. She stalked out the door to the practice yard, mind blank, blank, blank, and when she approached the straw dummy she grasped the sword in both hands and swung. The reverberation traveled along her arms as blade met post, and she brought it up again and swung, another clumsy, punishing blow. Again, and again, and again, and she realized she was panting, crying, and still she swung, again, again, until her arms were screaming with effort, hands bloodied with blisters, and then she threw the sword on the ground with a muffled cry of rage and loss.

Stalking back into the house, she ignored the slaves who scattered before her, sweaty, eyes wild, and repairing to the bedroom they'd shared, she doused the fire with a single gesture and growled word. She crawled into the bed, and _Oh, Maker_ , she could still smell him-

She held the tears back with effort, throat and chest tight, breathing in that scent of leather, wine, warm skin, with the faintest trace of lyrium, and willed herself not to think, mind blank, blank, don't think, breathe, breathe-

Hot tears spilled from her eyes, and with a single, gasping sob, she lost her tenuous control. Deep, rasping sobs tore from her, and muffling her wails in the pillows that still smelled like him, she mourned. Sometime later, minutes, hours, she didn't know, didn't care, breath hitching, she closed her eyes and slept.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's check in with our favorite elf tonight, hm? As an aside, I've often wondered at Fenris' facility with languages- the fact that he speaks Arcanum, near-perfect and often dryly witty trade tongue, and at least a smattering of Qunari implies that he's quite the skilled fellow in that arena. Being that in canon story he was on the run for three years (and not learning in any formal setting) I have to think that either Danarius schooled him in languages (unlikely, since the guy didn't even teach him to _read_ ) or that his markings confer upon him a measure of mental quickness as well. So yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. :D Also, I'm assuming like the Tal-Valshoth Maraas in the Hanged Man in Act III, Issala named himself.

Fenris stepped off the gangplank of the ship, steeling his expression as the land seemed to sway underneath him.  He looked around, taking in the snowy, wild areas bounding the coast to the south of them.  To the east, he made out the walls of a large city, squat and brown in comparison to Minrathous' tall, grey spires.

"The capital, Denerim," said a voice from behind him, and he turned to see the now-familiar face of Captain Warren.

"It is... very different from Minrathous," he said, and the Captain snorted good-naturedly, clapping the elf on the shoulder.

"None of your crazed statuary and cold grey stone here, my friend," he grinned, "Only good Ferelden timber and dirt and dogs."

Fenris raised an eyebrow.  "Are you extolling the virtues of your country, or listing its faults?"

"Tch," said the captain with amusement, "We'll convert you yet."

Fenris turned to see the rest of the men disembarking, and turned his gaze to the military encampment that sat in the valley below.

It had been a long voyage, nearly two months in duration, passing through the Ventosus Straits, following the coastline through the Venefication Sea, stopping to trade and resupply in Seere and Llomerynn, then onward to the tiny island of Estwatch, the port of Alamar, and finally this stretch of land near Denerim.

Fenris realized early on that the men who'd recruited them were as much traders as anything else, and he had no doubt they'd turned a tidy profit hauling spices and cloth up and down the coast.  He'd relieved the tedium of the journey by learning the craft of sailing, climbing the rigging and furling the sails in inclement weather, practicing knots and hauling rope as directed by other crewmen.  

There was something hypnotic about the work, an entire crew working in tandem to control this vessel of wood and cloth and rope, conquering the vast ocean through constant vigilance and adaptation.  The qunari had also found a similar fascination with sailing, and over the course of weeks Fenris had come to know the quiet, reserved man.  They'd had many a discussion while working, the elf overcoming his normal reservations to question Issala about the beliefs of his people, the mysterious Qun.

He admitted to himself that the idea of having a set role was a seductive one, both repelling and drawing him, a curious mix of both slavery and freedom.  The thought of being bound to one duty, one ideal rather than to a person was compelling.  Those of the Qun did not concern themselves with possibilities, simply striving in their own way to fill the role expected of them, working towards a unified ideal where every person was valued, respected, like a colony of bees working for the good of the whole, each individual with his expected place.  The work aboard the ship was a near microcosm of the same concept, and Fenris found a calm and purpose that he'd never anticipated.  

At the same time, there was a restless part of him that resented being trapped in one place, one role, feared being made a slave to any system, no matter the noble ideas behind it, fearful that a single tyrant could return any situation to the hell he'd lived through in Tevinter.

Fenris found that his discussions with the Qunari and the other mercenaries and crewmembers led to a rather rapid acquisition of their languages, a disquieting side effect of his markings that he'd noted even in Tevinter.  They sharpened his skills, his mind, recognizing patterns and engraving words in his mind far more quickly than with any of the other crew.  Within weeks he was translating for the rest of the crew, such skill rendering him immediately invaluable to the captain.

When Captain Warren had sought him out to teach the men basic Trade tongue, he'd found Fenris perusing the books Kit had given him, the meaningless squiggles frustrating him even as the pictures had intrigued.  The captain had taken it upon himself to teach Fenris to read, a skill he picked up with the same rapidity as the Qunari and Trade tongues.  

When he wasn't assisting the sailors, the captain, sleeping, or reading, Fenris worked through his sword forms, often garnering an appreciative audience, sparring from time to time with Gavin or Tristram, or playing cards at night.  They were being paid their twenty silver a week, and with little occasion to spend it, the crew and mercenaries gambled amongst themselves, trading the coin back and forth along with good-natured jibes and the occasional brawl.

It was a life unlike anything Fenris had ever experienced, and although he thought of the golden woman he'd left behind in Minrathous with regret, he admitted to himself that she'd given him a gift he was only now coming to appreciate fully.  He'd had no true concept of what it was to be free, his own man, and had he remained at her side, he'd have simply been a paid slave instead of an unpaid one, fulfilling the only role he remembered instead of being able to choose his own role, his own path.

Coming back to the present, Fenris fell in with the other mercenaries, ignoring Pavo and giving nods of acknowledgement to Maro and Macer as they passed.  His role, now, would be to serve this young king, protecting this country and its people against the fabled and feared darkspawn.  Shouldering his pack and belting his cloak closed against the cold, he followed the others into the valley where a measure of Ferelden's military had their winter camp.


	18. Chapter 18

_Six months later:_

Kit set the letter down with a sense of satisfaction.  It was finally dealt with it, all of it, the houses sold, slaves freed, and here she was, comfortably ensconced in a small, rented house in one of Minrathous' out-of-the-way merchant districts.  

Atius had kept his word, seeing to the disposition of all the estates with efficiency and care.  She'd kept an eye on him and the accounts, but like most of the Tevinter merchant class, he was honest and effective.  It didn't pay to cross your employer in a country where miscreants were regularly tortured and bled to death to feed any variety of dark magics.  As for the magisters, it didn't pay to lose an effective administrator in a country full of illiterate slaves, and so an uneasy understanding and symbiosis had developed between the two classes.

Kit thought about the locked chest in the basement vault, filled with an astonishing amount of coin.  Atius' messengers had delivered it along with his final letter, the remnants of the proceeds from the estates.  Even with two-thirds of the estates gone to settle Danarius' debts and free the slaves, she was a wealthy woman.   _Maker, I don't even know what to DO with that much coin._   She was content as it was- no household full of cowering slaves, no giant house with mammoth grounds- just a small, simple place with a kitchen, a library, a sitting room, and a bedroom for each of the three of them.

Beatriz had put Pesha to bed hours ago, the sight of the care-worn elf singing softly to the sleepy child, running her fingers through his black hair making her smile.  She thought back to the conversation they'd had a few months ago-

Beatriz had sat on a chair in the main room, mending a bit of torn clothing.  "They sold him, my lady- the Master had no need for one of his age, and one of the other magisters wanted him."

Her voice had been flat, eyes steady on her work, a response that would have been understandable if they'd been talking about anything else.

"But-" she shook her head- "They just took him?  Just like that?"

"He was property," the elf said, "the child of an elvhen slave.  No different than selling a calf or a colt."

Kit felt anger well up.  "But he was Danarius' son, your son!"

"He was property," the elf said, fingers mending methodically, "And in Tevinter a slave bain't a person.  To the Master he was another mouth to feed an' nothing more."

"I'm sorry," Kit answered, finally, and the elf nodded.  "Aye, me too, m'lady."

Kit folded the paper in her hands absently.  She couldn't give Beatriz back her son, but she and the Rivaini child had grown close, and as long as Kit drew breath she'd keep the both of them safe.

Setting the letter down, she picked up the next, a missive folded on plain paper, bearing an odd seal she'd never seen before.  Cracking the wax, she unfolded the letter and began to read:

 _To Katinka Hawke,_

 _I recently received the letter you posted to Gamlen Amell, and I'm writing to inform you with regret that he has passed on.  We've never met, but I'm Gamlen's daughter, Charade, and therefore your cousin.  I hope that you can take some small comfort in the fact that you still have family- as you are very nearly my only surviving relation, I admit knowing that you're alive and well makes me happy._

 _I'm so sorry to hear about your parents and siblings- Papa always said that Tevinter would be safer for the lot of you.  It sounds like a thoroughly unpleasant place, but I suppose the right to practice magic freely must count for something._

 _I was acquainted with our other cousin, Daylen Amell, before Aunt Revka took him to the Circle.  I've heard very little of him since, but I have fond memories of playing together as children.  He made the most wondrous magical pictures._

 _Anyway, not to get off-topic, cousin, but if you were to visit, rest assured that I do not share the general view of magic and would be more than pleased to see you, mage or no.  Kirkwall is rather strict towards its mages, so it's not exactly the best place in the Marches to come, but if you ever get tired of Tevinter, know that you'll be welcome with me._

 _It sounds like you've gotten up to quite a lot, with magical duels left and right, inheriting estates, freeing slaves- interesting, but a little frightening, just the same.  I suppose I don't have room to speak, since I've made the acquaintance of an oddly charming surface dwarf who gets the both of us into all sorts of scrapes.  All in good fun (and profit) I suppose._

 _Papa had some- difficulties- as a younger man, and as a result of some poor decisions, the Amell estate is no more.  I have a little place in Lowtown- it's small, but clean, and if you're ever in the area please stop by and visit._

 _Charade Amell_

Kit felt like her eyebrows were permamently lodged in her hairline.  She'd never met her uncle, and spared only a moment to regret that she never would, but-

 _I have a cousin._

Everything in the last six months had felt as if she were going through the motions of living- doing what she needed to do, what she _ought_ to do, but aimless, without a goal, without a connection.  Except for Beatriz and Pesha (and Fenris, she admitted to herself, but he was _gone_ ) she'd felt as though she were floating above life instead of in the midst of it.

But here was a connection.

Mind whirling, she set the letter down, and picked up the next, some official sort of correspondence.  When she cracked the seal, and began to read, it took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did-

She groaned in despair, adrenaline coursing through her.   _Fuck Tevinter.  Fuck, fuck, fuck this country.  They're not going to stop until I'm dead- I'm too soft, too weak, too solitary and unconnected to the Maker-be-damned politics and factions.  Without allies, I'm an easy target._

She threw the letter on the desk and put her head in her hands.  Candlelight glinted off the all-too-familiar phrasing:

 _By the rules set forth in the time of Archon Nomaran, a challenge is hereforth issued to the House of Hawke..._

***************************************************************************

She booked passage for the three of them the next day under false names, ordering Beatriz to pack up their valises.  Thankfully they had very little in the way of personal posessions- the crate after crate of books would form the bulk of what she was taking with her.

Beatriz had been quietly terrified at the thought of leaving the Imperium, Pesha merely excited as any nearly-seven-year-old would be at the prospect of a long journey.

 _I can't stay here and wait for them to kill me.  I'd rather take my chances with Kirkwall's Templars._

The day before their ship was to sail, nearly a week later, she visited the quiet graveyard holding the bones of her family.

"Da-" she said, voice cracking.  "Mama, Carver, Beth- I know you thought this was the best choice.  But I can't stay here.  I'm sorry."  She paused, laying a small handful of her favorite orange lilies on each of the graves, willing herself to remember happier times, snippets of conversation, smiles between each of them.  

Da, with his cultured voice, reading her stories back before the twins had been born, his dark beard and eyes the same color as hers crinkled with affection.  Mama braiding her hair and telling her to be a _lady_ instead of a hooligan, mouth quirking over her skinned knees and dirty stockings.

Carver, nose scrunched in dislike as he picked at his beets, mouthy and brash and her sweet, beloved, contrary brother.  Beth tying bandages around the cloth arm of her doll, saying, "Someday, I'm gonna heal people, just like Da!" with a smile like sunshine, achingly sweet.

"Goodbye," she said softly to each of them, heart simultaneously breaking and mending as she closed that chapter of her life, the one where she'd tried to live in her family's world, reacting, always reacting.  But now, she was choosing to act, making her own decisions, doing what _she_ thought was best.  She'd always remember them, love them.

But it was time to let go.

The next day, books in the hold, valises in their shared quarters along with the precious gold that would buy them a new life, the three sailed for Kirkwall, the City of Chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for my dear readers- how much of Fenris' adventures in Ferelden do you want to see? I can flesh it out a bit (he's going to be at Ostagar) or I can simply skip to his flight to Kirkwall. I admit to being tempted to write some of his interactions with Duncan/Amell/Alistair/Wynne/Daveth/Jory, or some battles with darkspawn, but I could also move the story along to the eventual meeting in Kirkwall. What would you guys like to see? Leave me a comment if you have a preference!


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